


A Time to Gain

by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)



Series: The Stanford Adventure Club [11]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Demonic Possession, Episode: s01e09 Home, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lucrezia being horrible, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27693023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose
Summary: Phase 2 of the Stanford Adventure Club's plan to save Sam Winchester hits a snag when a vision sends the Winchesters to Lawrence, and Lucrezia Mongfish finds John Winchester before his sons can.  But the elder generation may have enough tricks up its collective sleeve to turn Hell's schemes inside out.
Relationships: Agatha Heterodyne/Gilgamesh "Gil" Wulfenbach, Dean Winchester/Zeetha Daughter of Chump, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, John Winchester/Mary Winchester, Klaus Wulfenbach/Zantabraxus of Skifander, Tarvek Sturmvoraus/Colette Voltaire
Series: The Stanford Adventure Club [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023742
Kudos: 2





	1. News

_March 30, 2006  
Sinclair Mansion, Southern Missouri_

The Warrior Queen of Indochina sighed as she finished destroying a storeroom’s worth of exceptionally cursed artifacts that her children had deemed too deadly to keep and had asked her to deal with. Said storeroom stood at the end of a hall, which had presumably made it easier for Cuthbert Sinclair’s lesser servants and guests to avoid unless he intentionally sent them to their unwitting doom. Three of Agatha’s scanner bots had exploded upon coming within a foot of the door, and from their photographs, Zeetha had been able to make out enough of the warding on the door frame to determine that even sending a far more robust robot to scan the room and merely lift the lids of the curse boxes to photograph the contents would be too dangerous to attempt. Henry had been saddened at the prospect of losing the information, but Agatha had argued that not all knowledge was worth keeping, and even Samuel had agreed. Then Dean had found a ledger with entries describing everything in that room, which not only mollified Henry but also prompted him to concur with Zeetha’s view.

They had then all agreed without prompting that it was better not to know what spells Sinclair had used to protect himself against his toys. Samuel had surmised correctly that it must have been blood magic of a particularly twisted kind, and the Warrior Queen had needed to do no more than confirm his surmise for the matter to be closed with a general shudder.

Her children had all been justly cautious these last three months—and she had no qualms about calling them all _hers_ , though only Gilgamesh and Zeetha were hers by Klaus Wulfenbach and only Agatha and Dean were hers by marriage. Samuel and Henry were blood of Dean’s blood, and she had grown fond of them. Still, though Sinclair had kept his house immaculate, making it safe for any other human to live in had taken considerable labor, and while that labor was nearing its end, the strain was beginning to tell. Their celebrations of the birthday Dean had chosen to share with the twins and of Gilgamesh and Agatha’s anniversary had been subdued compared to Christmas, and even Zeetha had not been her usual reckless, carefree self in quite some time.

That thought and a mother’s instinct prompted her to make the rounds through the house to check on everyone. In the study, Samuel and Henry had fallen asleep at their reading. Samuel had been sitting on the couch, so she had only to set his book on the table ( _coffee table_ , they called it here) and position him more comfortably, with a pillow beneath his head and a blanket to cover him. Henry was less comfortably asleep at the desk and battling a nightmare, so she gently banished the nightmare and carried him upstairs to his bed, noting the fine lines on his slender face and the few strands of silver lurking in his dark hair. He now looked closer to 35 than to 30; the years he had missed due to time travel were slowly catching up to him. How soon his appearance would bear out the fact that he was Dean and Samuel’s grandfather, she could not foresee. That his nightmares would return, however, was almost certain, so she tucked him in and sent him into a deeper, more healing sleep before moving on to the other bedrooms.

Dean and Zeetha had fallen asleep fully clothed on top of the bedclothes of their bed, a testament to their level of exhaustion born of long hours of hard work. Dean was lying on his side, his arms around Zeetha’s chest and his nose buried in her hair; Zeetha had her arms around his waist and her head snuggled against his shoulder. Their dreams were peaceful, though, and they needed nothing more than covering up. Gilgamesh and Agatha had gotten as far as undressing before crawling into bed, but no further. Gilgamesh, flat on his back, was trapped in a wandering dream, racing through endless circular halls and up and down steep stairs in search of who knew what. His mother entered the dream just long enough to direct him through an exit toward a calmer scenario, and his restless mind settled to the point that she did not fear for his ability to sleep the rest of the night. Agatha, on the other hand, was on her stomach and murmuring into her pillow, and her right hand kept twitching as if she were attempting to write. No sooner did she have a pencil in that hand and a notepad under it than she began writing for real, though there was no telling whether she would be able to read or understand any of it when she awoke.

With the children taken care of, the Warrior Queen decided to make a final check to ensure that everything was ready for Tarvek and Colette Murphy’s arrival sometime during the morning. She was halfway down the stairs, however, when one of Agatha’s new patrol bots flew up to her.

 _Bing!_ it chimed and saluted. _Brrrbing!_

“Is he?” she asked quietly in English.

_Bip._

“All right, thank you.”

The bot chimed again and went on its way, and she let herself out through the portal at the foot of the stairs to the clearing where the mansion stood hidden. Sure enough, perched on a low branch of one of the trees at the edge of the clearing and looking off into the surrounding forest sat a figure that would, to mortal eyes, appear to be a man with slicked-back golden brown hair. One of his legs was swinging aimlessly where it dangled beside the branch, while the other knee was drawn up to his chest, and the stick of a lollipop stuck out of one corner of his mouth.

“Loki,” she called softly, walking over to him.

He turned with an impish smirk and took the lollipop out of his mouth. “Zantabraxus,” he returned in a mocking tone, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I wondered when I would actually see you here. It was you who scared Zola away, was it not?”

He snorted. “She was way too easy to mess with. The Colt negated all the spells Sinclair had placed on himself, so the Reaper nabbed his soul the second you guys opened the portal to go in the first time, but there’s no way she could have known that. ’Sides, _somebody_ had to keep her from recognizing anybody but Klaus and Barry.”

“I was prepared to do so.”

“Yeah, but I was already out here, and I’ve had way more experience with illusions than you have, kid.”

“You were also the being who sent Jess to Beetleburg for Thanksgiving, am I right?”

“Bingo. Figured as long as she was alive, she was more use with Sam wherever he was than pining away to nothing in California.”

“I believe I have sensed your presence beyond those incidents, though.”

“Hey, your kids are fun. So are the Winchesters.” He popped the lollipop back into his mouth.

“Why are you here?”

He shrugged and removed the lollipop again. “Eh. I got nothin’ better to do.”

“Gabriel.”

Stung, he looked at her, then handed the lollipop to the air and jumped down from the tree, growing to match her height as he landed. When he spoke again, it was in Enochian, and his face was grave. “Your kids have wrecked the plan, Luheia.”

She raised an eyebrow and returned in the same language, “Only they and not I?”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. You helped, showing them about the demon blood and all, but this started way before you came over. Sam and Dean weren’t supposed to have friends; thanks to Gil, they’ve got the Adventure Club. Hell, Dean was supposed to have had a son by a one-night stand in ’98, but John sent him on that skinwalker hunt to give him an excuse to visit Gil, and the one-night stand never happened. The boys weren’t supposed to know about their being vessels until _after_ Sam popped the lock on the Cage, but Gil figured it out five years ago. They weren’t supposed to have Jess or Henry, either, but now they’ve got both and the Men of Letters bunker to boot, not to mention this place. But even all that wouldn’t have been enough to derail the plan completely. You know Zachariah.”

She sighed. “I suppose he’s gotten worse.”

“Way worse. He hates humans almost as much as Lucifer does. Raphael’s backing him, too, so he’s determined to force the issue if he has to. And if it were just Gil and Agatha making a difference, as huge a difference as it is, he’d still find a way around them. But the night Dean met Zeetha....” He shook his head again. “They were in Texas. I felt the shockwave in _Idaho_. And that was just the first kiss. When she went with him on the vetala hunt, I knew it was only a matter of time before they got married. I had to act fast and jump back to ’73 and ’78 to keep the timeline from unraveling completely.”

She frowned. “What? Why?”

“Long story short, because of Zeetha, Dean can’t be manipulated into making the trip himself to set up the predestination paradox. That’s the main reason Henry got dumped out of the time stream as early as he did; he should have landed about ten years later, if he even survived the jump at all.* Zach hasn’t figured any of that out yet. But if I hadn’t ensured that Mary would not only take Azazel’s deal but also walk into Sam’s nursery that night in ’83, Zach would have gotten wise and sent Uriel back to 1917.”

“Why that year?”

“First year US troops were involved in World War I. If Uriel shows up then, Ernst Wulfenbach and Alexei Vodenicharov don’t make it home; Klaus Wulfenbach and Bill Heterodyne are never born; and the whole plan goes back on the rails, nice as you please.”

She hissed. “I still don’t understand. Why would Zeetha make such a difference when Gilgamesh doesn’t?”

He blinked and frowned. “What, don’t you—oh. That’s right. You never took a vessel. You ditched before those rules changed.”

“I did not ‘ditch’! Michael already believed Lucifer’s lies about the plan and half believed him about humankind, and that was even before Father sealed Amara away with the Mark and Lucifer crossed the line into open rebellion. I was a Principality; my duty was to protect humanity against all foes, even our fellow angels. Nuada and Oberon agreed with me, and our garrisons stood with us. We _obeyed_ Father’s will, and for that he cast us down!”

He raised his hands placatingly. “Bad choice of words. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry! _Now_ you’re sorry! Where were you when Michael denounced us to Father?”

“Look, I don’t understand why Dad made that decision, and I don’t understand why he’s kept Gadreel locked up all these millennia when _his_ only crime was falling for one of Luci’s cons. That’s one of the reasons _I_ ditched and went into Witness Protection so Mike and Rapha can’t drag me back into the fight. No one wants it to stop more than I do—but I got a good look at a bunch of the possible endings before I went back. Even if the plan worked, to the extent it ever _could_ work, it still wouldn’t be over. Even without your kids, Sam and Dean would have made sure the plan failed spectacularly, and then matters in Heaven would have gone from bad to worse, let alone the effects on earth and under the earth. With Gil, Agatha, and Zeetha in the mix, especially Zeetha... there’s a chance Mike might actually change his mind and call the whole thing off. And Zach can’t allow that to happen. I mean, you know what they say about nephilim....”

“That’s a lie! They are _not_ more powerful than Father!”

“You know that, and I know that, but the rest of the Host believes Luci’s version. That’s just prejudice, though. The real danger lies in the fact that they can all merge with Dean.”

“Why? Because of the soul-bonds?”

“Partly, and that is significant. Dean’s not so easy to isolate now, and I’ve got a hunch that’ll spill over to Sam pretty soon. That brotherly love is as strong as death anyway, and now it’s being strengthened by having more family ties. At least for Dean, there’s no longer the same ache for the vessel to be filled by the angel he was made for because of that bond with Zeetha. But it goes even deeper than that.”

“How so?”

“Most vessels can’t house any angel but the one they were made for, but archangel vessels can house lesser angels—or, apparently, two half-fae and a Heterodyne. The catch is that their vessel space is like one of these new holster types that’s made for a range of gun models but molds itself to fit one particular gun, and only that gun, over time. Dean’s been merging with Zeetha for close to four years now, and that’s changing the shape of his vessel space. So did that brief merge with Gil and Agatha added. Especially if all four of them merge again for more than a few seconds... it won’t take long for Dean to change so drastically that Mike _can’t_ possess him even if Dean could somehow be manipulated into agreeing to be possessed. And the odds of Dean saying yes now are microscopic.”

She raised her chin, finally understanding. “And you want it to stay that way.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I do. I _like_ them, Lulu—all five of them, and the rest of the Adventure Club, too. Speaking of which, keep an eye on Ardsley. Albia’s gone rogue; she might send his dad after him.”

“We can deal with her later.” She paused. “Will you come in and show yourself?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Gabriel....”

“It’s not time yet. Maybe after they get John back, but... not now. Something’s about to come up that they’ll have to deal with first.”

Disappointed but not surprised, she nodded. “All right.”

He stepped forward and embraced her. She pulled her wings in tight, and he wrapped his around her as she leaned into the hug.

“I’ve missed you, sister,” he whispered.

“And I you, brother,” she whispered back. “It’s been far too long.”

“Yeah. It has.”

She pulled back just long enough to kiss his cheek, placing her family mark on his physical shell. “There,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder again. “That should allow you to pass the wards.”

He rubbed her back gently. “Thank you.”

They stood there a while longer before mutually breaking the embrace. She stepped back, and he returned his form to its original size and jumped back up in the tree.

“I should go finish my rounds,” she told him. “The children wanted to get an early start today, and I believe the Murphys have just left Beetleburg.”

“You’re not telling them the whole truth, either, are you?” he asked with a knowing look.

“They know enough. They may deduce more. But true names have great power—you know that.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, fair enough.” Then he pulled his lollipop out of the air, put it back in his mouth, and returned to watching the woods and the road, and smiling to herself, she went back inside.

* * *

_Perfect timing_ , Dean thought later that morning, hearing Gil’s and Tarvek’s voices in the hall outside the study just as he plugged the last cable into the new router box. Gil and Agatha had been giving Tarvek and Colette the grand tour while Dean, Zeetha, and Henry set up the equipment the Murphys had brought, and it looked like both groups were about to finish at the same time. The new desktop computer was up and running on the desk; the new webcam was mounted on the wall between the two big-screen monitor brackets and plugged into the computer; one monitor was also on the wall, and the other would be as soon as Henry and Zeetha got it lifted into place; and now the router was set up. All that remained was plugging in the monitors and uttering the incantation that would allow the router to connect beyond the walls of the mansion, both for secure video conferencing and for general Internet access through a server based at the Roadhouse.

Dean had never really thought of himself as a techy sort of guy. That was Sam’s thing. Dean, like Dad, was more about the nuts and bolts, the mechanical side of things. But even he had started going into Internet withdrawal after two and a half months with no indoor access. (Really, about the only human who wasn’t in withdrawal was Henry, and he’d get testy just because everyone else was.) Sam, Gil, and Agatha still hadn’t quite figured out why—whether the mansion were in a pocket dimension or out of phase or _what_ —but even with the revamped wards, neither cell phones nor wi-fi would connect from inside, the way they had at the bunker. Anyone who wanted to make a phone call had to go sit out in the car and either freeze or waste gas running the heater, and to get online, they had to go clear into Neosho to find a coffee shop or library, which was a dicey proposition given the family’s need to stay as hidden as possible. Sam had nearly gone stir-crazy waiting for the weather to warm up enough that he could call his girlfriend Jess Moore at the bunker for more than five minutes a day without getting frostbite. Fortunately, Ash and Colette had finally found a solution that used subspace somehow, and Henry had sorted out the right Enochian spell to make it work with the wards. Dean was beyond ready to give it a test and finally rejoin the rest of the civilized world.

After turning the router on and setting it on top of a bookcase, Dean gave a concerned glance to the couch, where Sam was still sound asleep and hadn’t even stirred while all the setup was going on. _Guess he’ll sleep through the whole thing_ , he thought with a sigh.

 _I’m sure he needs it_ , Zeetha thought back. _You gonna give us a hand with this?_

Dean turned to see Henry and Zeetha about to heft the second monitor into place. Zeetha had her back to him, and the angle at which she was holding onto the monitor displayed her well-toned arms and... other assets well, which gave him a vivid reminder—as if he needed it—of one of the many reasons he’d married her.

 _Nah_ , he thought back with a smirk he knew she could sense. _I’m enjoying the view._

She sent him a playful telepathic bop on the head and gave a wholly unnecessary wiggle to prepare to lift the monitor.

If Henry noticed, he didn’t let on. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Zeetha replied.

“One, two, three—”

On _three_ they both lifted and slid the monitor onto the bracket in one smooth motion. Dean checked the fit before giving them the thumbs-up, and as they backed away with sighs of relief, he swiftly plugged in the remaining cables. No sooner had he turned both monitors on than the rest of the group, including Zanta, walked in.

“That was quick!” Gil and Tarvek chorused.

Dean shrugged and nodded to Colette. “Had good instructions. You guys figure that stuff out?” he added, pointing to the notepad in Agatha’s hand.

Agatha shook her head. “Mum says it’s Enochian. We’ll have to translate it later.”

“Speaking of which,” Henry interjected, “is everyone ready for the grand demonstration?”

“Everyone except Sam, looks like,” Gil answered, looking at the couch.

“Let him sleep,” Zeetha insisted again. “You know we all need it.”

Henry nodded once. “Right.” He walked over to the router, which had one LED lighted a steady red, and put one hand on it before slowly pronouncing the Enochian incantation.

The LED flashed yellow rapidly for several seconds, then turned green, and the other LEDs flickered on in the right order. Everyone who was awake cheered, but Sam didn’t even flinch.

Gil went to the desk. “Everything connected?”

“Should be all systems go,” Dean reported.

“All right...” Gil clicked the mouse several times, and the LED on the webcam lit up, after which a test image of the room displayed on both monitors. “Testing, testing...” Gil said, and the monitors echoed him clearly a second later. “Okay, here we go,” he announced and clicked several more times. The left-hand monitor switched to a black screen with the words “Bunker is not yet online”; the right-hand monitor switched to an extreme close-up of a half-opened eye.

“Whoa!” Dean yelped. “Ash, you’re too close to the camera!”

“Toldja, idjit,” Bobby Singer’s voice stated as Ash startled back and the image of his mulleted blond head blurred for a nauseating moment.

Still, the relief of hearing Bobby’s voice outweighed the motion sickness. Klaus was still in Beetleburg with Agatha’s uncle Barry Sanders (nee Heterodyne), who was finally out of the hospital, and they had kept in touch; but Bobby had left with Rufus Turner in January to take care of a case in Ankeny, Iowa, and Dean hadn’t heard much from him since. Dad being missing was bad enough. Not being able to keep in touch with Bobby had only heightened the worries. “Hey, Bobby!” Dean called.

“Dean, kids, ma’am,” Bobby replied as the image stabilized with a wider focus, showing both him and Ash in front of what looked like a metal wall. Ash still looked half-asleep despite the scare, but then again, Ash _always_ looked half-asleep, even when he was totally alert and sober.

Then Bobby moved his head like he was trying to see past everyone. “Is Sam okay?”

Dean nodded. “Far as we know, just asleep.”

Agatha frowned. “Where are you guys, Uncle Bobby?”

“Panic room,” Ash answered before Bobby could. “Under the Roadhouse, warded about as tight as we can get it without Her Majesty’s personal help. Gonn’ keep the servers an’ all down here so’s nobody can get to it without my say-so. Walls are salt-coated iron, etched with wards against angels and demons both. Devil’s Trap in the floor, another in the vent fan, and a third over the ladder. Bobby and Ellen built it last weekend.”

“You did all that in a weekend?!” Tarvek echoed incredulously.

Bobby shrugged with a sheepish grin. “Somethin’ to do.”

Everyone laughed.

“And—there,” Theo DuMedd’s voice suddenly interrupted from the left-hand monitor, and the black screen was replaced with an image of the bunker’s command center, filled with the remainder of the Adventure Club. “We should be live—can you hear us now?” Theo asked, looking up from a desktop set on the console of the much older mainframe that was apparently original to the bunker.

“Good here,” Gil replied as Ash flashed a thumbs-up.

“Excellent!”

“All hail, the gang’s all here,” Tarvek said.

“Well, Ash, Colette, I’d say this calls for champagne if we were all in the same place,” Henry said with a grin. “Never thought I’d live to see the day when video conferencing was a real technology—especially on a totally secure, totally wireless subspace network!”

Everyone but the two main architects applauded.

“ _Merci bien_ ,” Colette replied with a slight bow at the same time Ash said, “Much grass, amigos.”

But before anyone could say anything else, Sam gasped loudly and sat bolt upright, panted harshly a couple of times, and collapsed against the back of the couch with a groan, closing his eyes and massaging his forehead.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, confused and worried.

Sam groaned again and shook his head.

“Sam?” Jess called from the bunker.

Sam’s eyes popped open, and he looked around wildly for a moment. “Jess?”

“Over here.”

Sam finally saw the new monitors and webcam staring at him from the opposite wall. “Oh. Uh. Hi, guys.”

“Sam,” Jess prompted again. “What did you see?”

Dean blinked several times. “See?”

Jess nodded. “That’s the way he would wake up from the nightmares in October—the ones about... about the attack.”

Wide-eyed, Dean stared at Sam. Wide-eyed, Sam stared at Dean and gulped. “G-give me a sec,” Sam replied. “I, uh. It’ll be easier to draw first than to explain.”

Dean went to the couch and sat down while Sam grabbed a notebook and pencil off the coffee table and started sketching a two-story house. The more detail went into the sketch, the more dread grew in Dean’s heart, and when Sam drew the tree outside _just so_ , Dean couldn’t suppress a quiet curse.

Sam looked up. “You recognize it? I thought it looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it.”

Painfully aware of how many people were staring at them, Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah. What’s... I mean... what’d you see?”

“This window here”—Sam pointed to one of the second-floor windows, and Dean’s gut clenched—“exploded outward. The room behind it was on fire. A woman about our age ran to the window, screaming for help. And... that’s when I woke up, but... I mean, don’t ask me how I know this, but it felt like there was some sort of spirit there, trying to kill her.”

Dean knew exactly what Sam was going to say next, but they couldn’t have this conversation with an audience. He coughed nervously. “Would you guys excuse us for a minute?” he asked the assembled company and, without waiting for an answer, dragged Sam out into the hall, far enough to be pretty well out of earshot as long as they kept their voices down.

Sam was frowning in confusion. “What the hell, Dean?” he whispered.

Dean took a deep breath. “That’s our house.”

Sam blinked several times. “What?”

“Our old house in Lawrence. That window, the room that you saw on fire—that was your nursery.”

Sam inhaled slowly. “You think it might be....”

“Man, I dunno what to think, but it is one _hell_ of a coincidence that your vision-nightmares finally come back showin’ somethin’ goin’ on in our old house.”

“The woman I saw wasn’t Mom, I’ll swear to that. The face was different. It’s probably the new owner, and in that case....”

“Sammy, I swore to myself I would never go back there. And what if this is some kind of a trap, huh?”

“There’s still an innocent woman who’s about to be killed if we don’t do something about it.”

Dean dragged a hand down his face, trying to ignore the way it was shaking.

“Dean,” Zanta said, coming up behind him; he turned to find that she had Zeetha and Henry in tow. “I understand and share your misgivings about the nature of this case. But I also agree with Sam. Regardless of the danger, your family and no other must take this hunt.”

Dean licked his lips. “You think it’s Azazel?”

“I know not. Zeetha?”

Zeetha stepped past Zanta and Dean to approach Sam. “Can you replay the vision exactly?”

Sam shrugged. “I can try.”

Zeetha nodded once, closed her merge-link with Dean, and put one hand on either side of Sam’s head. They both closed their eyes, and Sam frowned a little in concentration for a good minute.

Zeetha finally blew the air out of her cheeks, reopened the link, and let go of Sam. “It doesn’t seem to be Azazel’s aura, based on what we saw in Sam’s memories of that night in ’83. It’s _nasty_ , though, whatever it is, and it does look like it was actively trying to kill the new owner of the house.”

Dean swore quietly again, but more resignedly.

“Dean, we have to take this hunt,” Sam insisted.

Dean heaved a heavy sigh. “Yeah. I know.”

“But not alone,” Henry stated softly and put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I think Zeetha and I should go with you. A larger group would attract attention, but... it’s about time the four of us head back to the bunker anyway.”

Dean nodded and managed a wan smile. “Thanks, Henry.”

Sam raised his chin, eyes narrowed in thought. “Hey, didn’t Bobby take Agatha’s locket to someone in Lawrence, some psychic, to help him figure out whether any of it could be salvaged?”

“Don’t remember,” Dean admitted.

“We can ask,” Henry said.

Zeetha exchanged a look with her mom and put a hand on Dean’s other shoulder. “Why don’t you go on out and get the car warmed up for us, sweetheart? Shouldn’t take the rest of us long to pack up and get ready to go.” _And I’ll give you a heads-up when we’re about to come out_ , she added through the link.

Dean glanced at Zanta, who nodded once, and sighed a little. “Good idea. Thanks, honey.”

She squeezed his shoulder and headed upstairs, followed by Sam, while Henry patted his back and went back into the study to bring everyone else up to speed. Zanta opened the portal with a wave of her hand, and Dean nodded his thanks and went out.

He got as far as getting in the driver’s seat and closing the door behind him before falling apart.

He knew why everyone thought they needed to take this hunt themselves. He understood the stakes. And he was grateful that Zeetha and Henry were coming with them. He just... needed one more person with him if he was going to set foot in Lawrence again for any reason—especially this reason.

Once he finished freaking out, he pulled out his phone and stared at it for a long moment. Finally, he got up the courage to dial, entered the number, and paused. Dad probably wouldn’t answer. He hadn’t answered since before Halloween. He’d probably assume that Dean had all the help he needed, or that the call was a trap, or... hell, Dean didn’t even know Dad’s mind anymore. Nor did he know how much time he had before the rest of the family came outside. He definitely didn’t want Sammy to catch him with his guard down, and he was sure his guard would come down if he gave in and called. Still....

 _Five minutes_ , Zeetha sent, along with the mental equivalent of a kiss on the cheek, before shutting down the link again.

Dean’s thumb hit the Call button before he could stop it. He stared at the screen as the tinny ring sounded five times; then Dad’s recorded message picked up, and Dean raised the phone to his ear. He hadn’t expected Dad to answer, but maybe leaving a message would still get some response.

“Dad,” he choked out after the beep. “I know you’ve got your reasons for bein’ on radio silence. So do we. I don’t even know if you got Henry’s message back before Christmas.” He swallowed hard. “But the four of us... we’re headed to Lawrence here in a few minutes. Looks like there’s somethin’ in our old house. Whether or not it’s Azazel... Zee says she doesn’t think so, but we won’t know until we get there. But whatever it is... just the fact it’s in our house... I don’t know what to _do_.” He paused again to try to squelch the tremor in his voice, but the tear that rolled down his cheek made that a lost cause. “So... whatever you’re doin’, if you could get there... we’ll be gettin’ in about noon, if you could meet us for lunch or somethin’. I just... I know I’ve got Sammy an’ Zee an’ Henry, but... I need your help, Dad. _Please_.” And he hung up, looked at his watch, wiped his face, and spent the next few minutes pulling himself together.

 _One minute_ , Zeetha sent.

 _I’m ready_ , he sent back as he started the car. And when she came out exactly one minute later with Sam, Henry, and the bags, the car was warm and Dean had his game face on and his favorite mix tape in the tape deck.

“Ready to go?” Sam asked as he slid into shotgun and Zeetha and Henry climbed into the back seat.

“Hell, yeah, little brother,” Dean replied with a smirk that he hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt, put the car in gear, and drove off.

* * *

* I’m factoring the Years That Weren’t into the SPN canon timeline, which would put Season 8 in 2014-2015.


	2. Burning Questions

Dean’s mind whirled as the Winchesters sat in the front room of Missouri Mosely’s house that served as a waiting room. Lunch had been uneventful, but the hour since hadn’t been. While Sam and Zeetha had gone to the Winchesters’ old home, Dean and Henry had gone to the garage where Dad had worked before the fire to see if they could turn up any information there. Mike Guenther, Dad’s war buddy and former business partner, had only confirmed that Dad had visited Missouri shortly before leaving Lawrence for good. But then Henry had spotted a messy, rusty sigil showing through the paint on one of the walls, which had prompted Mr. Guenther to spill a story about the former owner, for whom Dad and Mr. Guenther had worked, having been found dead with his eyes burned out in 1978. On the way back to the house, Henry had explained that the sigil was used for banishing angels and that burned-out eyes were a result of being exposed to an angel’s true form. Sam and Zeetha, meanwhile, had discovered that there was definitely at least a nasty poltergeist in the house and that a second spirit, appearing as a woman on fire, might be present as well. Everyone had agreed that they needed expert help, especially since there wasn’t a hoodoo shop handy, and Henry had suggested that Missouri might have heard from Dad, too. So, having gotten Missouri’s address from Bobby before leaving the mansion, they’d come straight here to find a “Come In And Wait” sign on the door. Voices from the next room had indicated that Missouri was in the middle of a reading, so wait they did.

None of it made any sense. Why would an angel have killed Dad’s boss? Who’d banished it, and why? Was the woman on fire just a death echo, or was Mom’s ghost trapped in the house? Why was the poltergeist there? Why the hell had Sam had a vision about it today of all days?

And where the hell was Dad?

Dean’s train of thought was mercifully interrupted when a stocky black lady—Missouri, Dean guessed—and the man she’d been reading for came out of the back room, chatting pleasantly as she saw him to the door. As soon as she’d closed the door behind him, though, she sighed and shook her head. “Poor b—” she began, turning toward the Winchesters, but broke off with a loud gasp and braced herself against the wall as she finally looked directly at them. “ _Mercy_ , those hex bags y’all are carryin’ are strong!” she exclaimed as she recovered. “I heard you come in and saw you sittin’ there, but I couldn’t sense a one of you until I looked straight at you. Never had that happen to me before.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a surprised glance. Even if Bobby hadn’t vouched for Missouri, and even if her voice hadn’t sounded somewhat familiar from the conference call about Agatha’s locket thirteen years earlier, the fact that she would admit such a thing pretty much guaranteed that she was the real deal. A fake wouldn’t show that level of surprise and wouldn’t have any extra senses to be blocked by the hex bags in the first place.

“Well, don’t just sit there,” Missouri insisted after a moment. “Come on back, Sam, Dean... is it... H-Henry? Oh, and... my, my, my, Princess... Zzzee-tha, is that right? I mean, that’s your mortal name?”

“It’s the relevant one,” Zeetha replied, shooting a wary glance at Dean.

“Well, I ain’t got all day. Come on.”

With a collective shrug, the Winchesters stood and followed Missouri back to her sitting room.

“You boys sure grew up handsome,” she said to Sam and Dean with a smile as everyone took seats. “But Henry, you ain’t changed much from the way John remembered you back when he first came to see me. Zeetha, now, you look an awful lot like—your brother? Twins? I can see your daddy in you, too; he’s come to see me a couple times, lookin’ for that friend of his, Barry. I told him straight I ain’t no magician. But your brother I saw the first time on that call about the locket. Now, how is Miss Agatha doin’?” she asked, taking Dean’s hand. Before he could answer, she continued, “Oh! Married to Gil. Well, I ain’t surprised. I could see that spark through the phone clear as day. Y’all are still close, too, good, good. An’ they’re safe in....”

Suddenly able to feel Missouri’s mind brush his, Dean slammed his mental defenses into place and locked every potential chink he could find as tightly as possible. Even the merge-links weren’t safe. Letting Zeetha, Gil, Agatha, or Zanta into his head was one thing, but no matter how trustworthy Missouri was, he couldn’t let her see what a mess his brain was.

She dropped his hand and swatted his shoulder. “Don’t you fight me, boy! I cain’t help you if you won’t let me in! What the hell are you—”

She broke off and looked sharply at Zeetha, who stared back at her, and Dean got the sense that Zeetha was talking to Missouri directly. He still didn’t dare let his guard down, but he could guess what Zeetha was saying: either “Back off my consort” or “Here’s what we need” or both.

Missouri nodded slowly and relaxed somewhat. “I see. Yes, I see.” Then she turned to Sam and took his hand, held it for a moment, and said, “Mm mm _mm_. Well, at least you saved your girlfriend, honey, and you marry that girl if you know what’s good for you. But the rest—so it was Azazel, was it? Well, that answers a lot of the questions I’ve always had. Couldn’t tell for sure what it was killed your mama, but oh, I could tell it was evil.”

Sam blinked. “You... went to the house?”

Missouri nodded again. “Your dad came to me for a reading a few days after the fire, took me to the house. I told him what’s out there in the dark.”

Henry sighed heavily.

“Now don’t you start!” Missouri fussed, pointing at Henry. “If what I’m gettin’ from Sam is true, it ain’t your fault, and it’s no good blamin’ yourself for it. High-rankin’ demons like Azazel and Abaddon don’t get sent to break up homes and keep dads from tellin’ their sons the truth.”

“I know that,” Henry protested, “but—”

“Oh, you Winchesters! Like father, like grandfather! John’s just the same, blamin’ himself for Mary’s death when there’s no way he coulda saved her—and _don’t you start_ , boys,” Missouri snapped at Sam and Dean. “I don’t have to read your minds to know what you’re thinkin’. You both take after your daddy.”

Dean ducked his head and fought his instinct to share a look with Sam.

“I’m gettin’ there, girl,” Missouri told Zeetha. “Don’t you rush me.” She let go of Sam and took Henry’s hand, and her expression gentled. “Oh, honey, I am sorry for all your losses. Ain’t surprising you’d have nightmares after all that. And John’s missing? But that’s not your fault, either. Your son’s a grown man—hell, he’s older than you are. He makes his own choices, his own mistakes. You did your best with the time you had; you cain’t blame yourself for what’s happened after.”

“Do you know where he is?” Henry asked quietly.

Missouri shook her head and dropped his hand. “Like I said, I’m no magician. I can read thoughts and energies in a room, but I cain’t pull facts out of thin air.”

Sam cleared his throat and shifted nervously. “We did find Barry, by the way. He’s safe. Klaus was with us.”

Missouri nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. Thank you. Now, let’s get to the reason you’re here. You’re sure it’s a poltergeist?” she asked Zeetha.

Zeetha nodded. “It threw a lamp at me.”

“I don’t understand it. I’ve been keepin’ an eye on that house—from a distance, you understand; haven’t been back in—and it’s been quiet.”

“Dean thinks this could be a trap,” Sam volunteered. “With everything else that’s been going on since Dad disappeared, it seems like something’s starting.”

Missouri shot a glance at Dean and Zeetha and hummed thoughtfully. “That could be. Could well be. If it is a trap, though, I got a feelin’ Azazel ain’t sure it’ll work. He cain’t even be sure you’re here; like I said, those hex bags are strong, ’specially with all of you in one room. That gag order Agatha put on Brady, too, that night y’all saved Jess—”

“What?” Dean gasped.

“Sam’s thinkin’ about it. ’Bout the power in it, and I think he’s right that it took. If that demon cain’t say what happened, odds are Azazel has no idea how y’all even got into that apartment in time, whether you might be able to beat this trap the same way. An’ then there’s that second spirit Zeetha mentioned. Could well be your mama, but obviously I cain’t tell from here whether it’s even there or what it means to any plans Azazel might have for you.”

“So what do we do?” Henry asked.

“Deal with the problem we know how to solve.” Missouri slapped the arms of her chair and stood, and the men stood instinctively with her. “C’mon in the kitchen. We got some gris-gris bags to make.”

Zeetha stood last of all and slipped her hand into Dean’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze as they followed Missouri into her kitchen and listened to her instructions while she got out the bags and ingredients. With five of them working on four bags, the task took almost no time, and shortly after that, the Winchesters were headed back to the old house, with Missouri following in her own car. As they backed out of the driveway, Zeetha murmured some kind of warding charm, apparently to keep Missouri from eavesdropping; Dean finally relaxed as he felt it take effect, and Sam blew the air out of his cheeks.

“Well,” Henry sighed. “Miss Mosely certainly has a... forceful personality.”

“Understatement,” the brothers chorused.

Dean felt an unusually gentle knock against his mind and unblocked his link with Zeetha. _Was that you?_ he asked her.

 _It was_ , she replied. _She’s not out to hurt you, y’know._

_Zee—_

_I mean it, Dean. You didn’t have to block her like that._

_Easy for you to say._

_Why are you afraid of her? You let_ me _see what’s in there._

 _You scared the hell out of me the first time, too_ , he reminded her. _Difference is, I was already in love with you._

_Well, that and I found a quick way to distract you._

He fought a smirk. _That, too._

Apparently he didn’t fight it well enough. Sam glanced over at him, rolled his eyes, and looked out the passenger window again.

 _But seriously_ , Zeetha pressed.

Dean sighed a little. _I dunno. Guess she just reminds me too much of all the teachers who hated me._

Her confusion was palpable. _She doesn’t hate you._

_Yeah, right._

_No, really._

_Maybe she doesn’t now, but if she went too deep...._

_Why are you so convinced that you’re unlovable? I’ve seen what’s in your head. You’ve seen what’s in_ my _head. So have Gil and Agatha. So has Mom._

_Yeah, but... but...._

_But what?_

_... you’re family._ He didn’t try to remind her how terrified he’d been of Zanta at first or how long he’d known Gil and Agatha before their merge.

“Would you two mind speaking _out loud_ for a change?!” Sam snapped.

Dean blinked. “What?”

Sam huffed, and his shoulders slumped. “Sorry. I just—it’s like I can _tell_ when you’re talking through the merge-link, but I can’t _hear_ anything, and....”

“Hey.” Dean reached over and squeezed the back of Sammy’s neck. “Not tryin’ to leave you out of anything. You know that, right?”

Sam grimaced and nodded. “Yeah, I know. Dunno why it’s getting to me today.”

“I think we’re all on edge,” Henry said diplomatically. “And it could also have something to do with whatever Azazel might be trying to accomplish, if he is responsible for the poltergeist and even for the vision.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Sam turned to look back at Henry while Dean put his hand back on the wheel. “You think he could be causing the visions?” Sam asked.

“Possibly,” Henry replied. “Demon blood infection is a little out of my line, but Josie and I did investigate some clairvoyants when we were still doing field work preparing for our initiations. The headache that hit after the vision—does that always happen to you?”

“Pretty much.”

“I’ve only ever seen that when the clairvoyant was receiving a message from another psychic with whom she didn’t already have a telepathic connection.”

“Wait, so—are the visions _fake?_ ”

“Not necessarily. I mean, you said you saw the attack on Jess exactly the way it happened, up to the point when Dean and Company broke in.”

“Yeah, down to the nightgown Jess was wearing. That was one reason I didn’t think they were anything but nightmares; she didn’t even own a nightgown like that. Brady must have dressed her in it.”

“So the visions aren’t _false_ , exactly, but it seems to me that they’re not occurring naturally. The headache suggests they’re being forced on you.”

“Huh. That could explain the nightmares I had when we went to Colorado—they weren’t visions, but it did almost feel like I was under attack somehow. And then today... I wonder if activating the wi-fi somehow created enough of a weak point in the wards that Azazel was finally able to get through.”

“I wouldn’t have thought so myself, since that connection works on subspace, but there’s not much telling. Having the portal open while the Murphys were bringing in the equipment would be a more likely weak point; that did take a while. Or it could be a function of the powers brought on by the demon blood somehow. Had you been able to sense Dean and Zeetha communicating telepathically before?”

“Not... exactly. I mean, I’ve kinda almost thought I could for a couple of weeks now, but I wasn’t sure. You know how the mansion’s wards dampen everything inside.” Sam rubbed at his forearm with a slight wince.

That gesture set off alarm bells for Dean. “Your bones itchin’?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Never completely went away after Zanta recovered those memories, but I hadn’t really noticed it while we were at the mansion. Now....” He huffed. “I dunno.”

“Was it ever like that before Thanksgiving?”

“It... might have been, kinda. I don’t really remember, never paid that much attention to it. It was just, like... like I knew in the back of my mind that _something_ itched, but I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t think about it much, but it was _there_ and it kept irritating me to the point that I’d... I’d just go off on people.”

“Like Dad.”

Sam hesitated. “Not sure it went back that far. I was just thinking about the last year, since my last birthday. That’s when it got worse.”

“You go off on Jess?”

“No!” Sam paused. “Maybe I’d vent to her, but I never... I mean, I _tried_ not to blow up at anyone, but I tried especially hard with her.”

Dean thought back to the conversation he’d witnessed part of on Halloween, when Jess had come home while Sam was still packing to go with Dean down to Jericho. Sam had kept his cool pretty well under Jess’ questioning—well enough to tell her soothing lies, granted, but the only time he’d snapped while Dean was there was when he’d told Dean to butt out. He’d been fuming when he finally came down to the car, but given past experience, Dean could easily picture Sam keeping his cool until he’d closed the door behind him. And really, now that he thought about it, Dean realized that Sam’s irritation hadn’t been so much with Jess as with Dad and Dean and the life crashing in on him again just days before the law school interview he’d thought would be his ticket out of hunting for good.

Dean nodded. “I believe you.”

Sam blinked. “You do?”

“I know you, remember?”

Sam huffed and smiled. “Thanks, Dean.”

There wasn’t time for further conversation after that; they were just two blocks away from the house. By the time everyone else had checked their weapons and gris-gris bags, both cars were parking.

“I can handle introductions,” Sam offered as the Winchesters got out of the car. “The new owner’s name is Jenny.”

But Missouri didn’t even wait for them to get hammers out of the arsenal. She charged straight up to the house, bulldozed Jenny’s objections, and was halfway up the stairs to the nursery before Sam could introduce Dean and Henry, who was passing as a cousin for the day. Zeetha stayed behind to chat with Jenny for a moment—apparently the poltergeist had just tried to kill Jenny’s son—while the men followed Missouri upstairs.

The nursery was noticeably colder than the hallway, and Henry shivered as he looked around. “So this is where it happened?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean replied and wrestled down a flashback.

“There _is_ a second spirit in here,” Missouri stated. “Cain’t quite tell whether it’s your mama, but it’s here.”

“If it is Mom,” Sam asked, “will we hurt her if—”

“That I don’t know, but I think she don’t care much. Might help her let go. But we got to get that other thing stopped ’fore it does kill someone.” And she bustled off downstairs again.

Henry made a slow circuit around the room, looking everywhere but up. “Sam’s crib was about here?” he finally guessed, standing almost exactly where the head of the crib had been.

Dean nodded.

Henry nodded back. “Thought so, given the angle of vision from those memories.” He shivered again. “Mary, if you can hear us... I’m sorry we never got to meet while you were alive, but... we really are here just to get rid of the intruder. I apologize in advance if the method hurts you at all.”

Zeetha sent Dean an attention-getting signal just then, and he nodded toward the hall to signal Sam and Henry to follow him back downstairs.

“You’re sure?” Jenny was asking as the men came down to the front hall.

“We’ll be fine,” Zeetha insisted, herding Jenny and her kids out the door. “And we’ll take care of the problem, I promise. Missouri can call you when we’re done.”

“Okay. I just—”

“Don’t worry! Go get some ice cream. Ice cream’s good for upset kids.”

“Ice cweam?” Jenny’s son asked hopefully.

“The fire lady wants us to go, too,” Jenny’s daughter said, looking back past Dean somewhere. “She’s waving bye.”

Wide-eyed, Dean spun—but if the girl had seen Mom, she wasn’t there now.

“Ice cweam! Ice cweam!” the boy chanted.

“Okay, okay, we’ll go get ice cream,” Jenny agreed with a rueful chuckle. “But call if you need anything, Zeetha.”

“We will,” Zeetha promised and closed the door.

“We ain’t got all day, boys,” Missouri stated, coming back in from the kitchen. “I got the targets marked. So when I say ‘Go,’ y’all knock a hole in the wall an’ place your bags.”

The Winchesters nodded and split up: Henry to the north wall, Sam to the east, Zeetha to the south, and Dean to the west. As soon as he found the spot Missouri had marked, Dean readied the claw end of his hammer to punch through the drywall.

“Ready,” Missouri called a minute or so later, loud enough to be heard throughout the first floor. “Set... GO!”

Dean swung, and the claw sunk into the drywall. He pulled, ripping open a hole, and tossed the gris-gris bag into the wall. Evidently everyone else acted almost as quickly, because a split second later, a blinding white light flashed through the house, and the sense of evil that he’d almost thought was his own imagination lessened significantly. A crash from the other side of the house suggested the poltergeist had tried to attack someone; Dean ran toward the sound to find Sam staring at the shards of another lamp, its cord extended toward him.

“I... I think it was gonna strangle me,” Sam said as he looked up. “I felt the plug hit my shoulder.”

“You all right, Sam?” Missouri asked, coming up behind Dean with Zeetha and Henry behind her.

Sam nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded back. “Then y’all can get to work cleanin’ up. This house is clear!” And she left, all smiles.

Zeetha waited until the front door had closed to shake her head. “No, it isn’t.”

“I didn’t think so,” Sam admitted. “The bags worked, but Mom and the poltergeist are both still here.” He rubbed at his arm again.

Henry sighed. “Well, we do need to clean up before we do anything else.”

Zeetha raised her hands and chanted something Dean didn’t quite understand. The hole in the wall vanished, and the lamp put itself back together and returned to the table it had come from. Then Dean followed her into the kitchen, noting that the other walls were already repaired, and watched as she held a glowing hand over the garbage disposal and chanted something that sounded like a healing spell he’d heard Gil use in years past. Something in the garbage disposal glowed green in response, and the glow intensified as she chanted a second and a third time. Then she stopped with a sigh, and the glow faded.

“Plumber lost his hand in there earlier,” Sam explained from the other side of the kitchen.

“You okay?” Dean asked as Zeetha braced herself against the counter.

She nodded. “Yeah. Distance is a challenge, but a hand’s not as much to heal as the wound Brady gave Jess.”

He kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

“Let’s go back up to the nursery,” Henry suggested. “I have an idea.”

With an exchange of looks and shrugs, the four of them trooped upstairs again, and Henry directed them to stand in a circle in the center of the room, around where Sammy’s crib had been. Then he told them to join hands, and when they’d done so, he uttered an Enochian spell.

The temperature dropped... there was a flicker... and then there was Mom, standing in the middle of the circle, looking confused.

Dean immediately threw the strongest shield he could muster over the five of them. At the same time, Zeetha uttered a different spell, and the birdsong outside cut off as if paused.

Mom turned to her, wide-eyed. “What did you do?”

“Stopped time,” Zeetha replied. “The poltergeist’s severely weakened, but this way we’ll be able to talk without fear of interruption from it or Jenny or Missouri.”

Mom’s jaw dropped, and she rounded on Dean. “Deanie, what have you done?!”

“Mom, this is my wife Zeetha,” he replied, more steadily than he’d expected. “She’s Gunny Wulfenbach’s daughter.”

“And she’s—”

“Half-fae. I know. She’s also the best hunting partner I’ve ever had, apart from Sammy and Dad.”

Mom’s eyes widened. “Hunting... did you say _hunting?!_ ”

Dean nodded. “Dad got into it to try and avenge you.”

Mom burst into tears. “Boys, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted you to be raised in the life like I was. And Sammy—oh, Sammy, I’m _sorry_. I had no idea the demon wanted _you_.”

“Mom, what did happen?” Sam asked gently. “How did you run into Azazel in the first place?”

“A-Azazel? You’re sure that’s the name?”

“As sure as we can be. We got it out of another demon, and Henry says it’s plausible.”

“Henry?”

Sam nodded at Henry. “Dad’s dad. He’s a Man of Letters, used a time travel spell to get to us a few months ago.”

Mom glanced over at Henry and nodded. “Hi.” Then she sniffled and looked at Sam again. “There was... um... at the end of April of ’73, my parents and I had been investigating an outbreak of omens and mysterious deaths. This other hunter, Dean Van Halen, showed up working on the same case. Somehow he found out the yellow-eyed demon was going to be making a deal with my friend Liddy Walsh on May 2. We went to try to save her, but... all that did was draw the demon’s attention to me. It said it _liked_ me. Dean had this gun he said could kill anything, but he missed, and the demon smoked out. So we went home, and... and I called John to come get me. He took me out to Elton Ridge to propose, and... the demon showed up, possessing Dad. It had already killed Mom and Dad, and then it killed John, and it said it would bring John back if I gave it permission to enter the house in ten years’ time to take something. It said the thing it wanted was something I’d never miss, and as long as it wasn’t interrupted, nobody would get hurt.” She sobbed. “I took the deal. I’m so sorry, Sammy. I just couldn’t face life without John.”

“So that night Azazel showed up in my room....”

“I swear I didn’t know! You were born the night the deal came due, and since we were all at the hospital, I thought the demon had come for what it wanted then and was gone already. I saw a man in here and thought it was John until I went downstairs and found John asleep on the couch.”

“What about Dean Van Halen?” Henry asked.

Mom shook her head. “He disappeared. I didn’t see him again until—until about five years later, just after I realized I was pregnant with my Dean. He showed up on our doorstep one night, and I was trying to get him to go away when John got a call to meet Mr. Woodson at the garage. That’s when Dean warned me there was a rogue angel trying to set a trap for us. When we got to the garage, Mr. Woodson was dead, and this red-haired woman was trying to kill John. Dean managed to banish her, and... and that’s all I remember until waking up in bed with John the next morning. I never saw Dean again after that.”

Sam frowned. “Why the hell would a rogue angel be trying to kill you and Dad?”

“Might have had something to do with the plan for the Apocalypse,” Henry suggested.

Sam shook his head. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why not just stop Azazel from forcing the deal, or why not stop Mom and Dad from getting together in the first place?”

Dean sighed heavily, and Zeetha squeezed his hand.

“What?” Sam, Henry, and Mom asked at the same time.

Dean took a deep breath. “I didn’t wanna tell you this, Sammy.”

“Tell me what?” Sam demanded.

“It was the angels who set Mom and Dad up to begin with.”

Sam paled. “What?”

Dean nodded. “Zanta told me. Said she mighta claimed Dad as her consort instead of Klaus if Dad hadn’t already been cupid-marked for Mom.”

“You mean... then... then when Mr. Ganem told us Abaddon had attacked the Letters in Normal because she was a hired gun....”

“I dunno. All I know is what Zanta told me about Dad.”

“Who’s Zanta?” Mom asked.

“Zeetha’s mom.”

Before the conversation could continue, however, Dean felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He shot an alarmed look at Zeetha, who swore in Thai.

“I take it our time’s up,” Henry said.

In answer, the window shattered, though the shards remained frozen in place, and a stench rolled into the room. The poltergeist grabbed a lamp and hurled it toward Sam, only to have it stopped by Dean’s shield. The spirit shrieked just beyond the audible range, and the room burst into flames.

Mom snarled, looking up toward the top of the doorframe. “You! Get out of my house!”

“No, Mom!” Sam shouted before Mom could launch herself at the poltergeist. Then he broke the circle, turned toward the door, and flung his hands out as if he was trying to catch something. The fire retreated and coalesced into a ball around a core of darkness, but it shrank only so far before the poltergeist managed to fight Sam to a standstill.

“Sammy?” Mom gasped.

“I got it,” Sam gritted out, “but I can’t... quite....”

“MOM!” Zeetha yelled.

Zanta appeared beside Sam and uttered a command. The ball of flame imploded and dissipated in a wave of smoke, and the tension in the air dissipated with it. Zanta waved a hand to repair the window and return the lamp to its place, then looked down at Sam. “Are you all right, my champion?”

Sammy nodded even as he brought a hand up to catch the blood that was dripping from his nose. “Yeah, I’b fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Dean and Zeetha chorused.

Zanta put a hand on Sam’s head; the nosebleed stopped, and the blood vanished.

Sam blew the air out of his cheeks. “Thanks, Zanta.”

Dean took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Mom, this is Zantabraxus, Warrior Queen of Indochina. Zanta, this is my mom.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Mary Winchester,” Zanta said with a slight smile.

“Your Majesty,” Mom replied, looking like she wasn’t sure the feeling was mutual.

“Uh, Mom?” Zeetha piped up. “As long as you’re here, do you think you could help Mary let go and move on?”

Zanta considered. “I believe I have a way. Dean, will you drop your shield?”

“Um. Yeah.” Dean did so.

“Now, if you will stand here—Sam, you here—Zeetha and Henry, step back, please.”

The living mortals obeyed. Dean realized as he looked across at Sam that they were again at compass points, east and west.

Zanta walked over to the south corner of the little square she was setting up and joined hands with the brothers. “Now, Mary, if you would close our circle.”

Mom hesitated until Sam held out his free hand to her and Dean followed suit. Then she sighed, took her position, and took their hands. “Boys, no matter what happens... I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom,” they chorused, and Dean had to stop himself from squeezing Mom’s hand.

“Close your eyes,” Zanta ordered, and they did so. Then she chanted something Dean couldn’t even begin to understand, and power surged through him like high-voltage current.

When it passed, both the hands holding his were warm and solid, and each had a pulse. He opened his eyes—and there was Mom, looking like she was Dad’s age, dressed in street clothes, and not dead-pale or transparent at all. And she was breathing.

“Mom?” he gasped.

She opened her eyes in shock. “I’m alive? I’m... I’m _alive?!_ ”

Sam and Dean looked at Zanta, who nodded once, and both hugged Mom at the same time. She was solid; she was breathing; Dean could feel her heart beating.

“Oh, Mom, I’ve missed you _so much_ ,” he sobbed into her shoulder.

“I know, baby,” she sobbed back. “I’m so sorry.”

“Mom, it’s okay,” Sam replied. “We forgive you. _I_ forgive you.”

They held each other and cried a moment longer, and then the brothers stepped back to let Mom hug Zeetha and Henry. Dean hugged Zanta for good measure, and she rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head.

“I’m glad we’ll get a chance to know each other, Mary,” Henry said as she finally let go.

Mom sniffled and swiped at her cheeks as she nodded. “Me, too.” Then she turned back to Zanta. “I... I don’t know what to say. I mean, I literally owe you my life.”

“Yes, you do, Mary Frances Campbell Winchester,” Zanta replied sternly, her voice echoing with power, and Mom gasped as her soul glowed green in her chest, visible even to Dean. “In consequence, I lay upon you this bond: not to depart from my presence or from the place in which I reside except in the company of your sons or another member of my family or household, until such time as I release you. Should you violate this bond, your life will be forfeit.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Mom replied breathlessly. “I shall obey.”

“Very well.” Zanta released Mom’s soul, and Sam steadied Mom while she caught her breath. Then Zanta smiled for real. “Now come, we have much to speak of before we take our rest. We will meet you this evening,” she added to Dean.

Dean nodded. “Okay.”

Zanta and Mom disappeared, and time resumed as if nothing had happened.

“Holy _cats_ ,” said Henry, bracing himself against the dresser.

“No kidding,” said Sam.

“Jenny should be back in a few minutes,” Zeetha noted, walking up to Dean. “Are you all right?”

Dean nodded and hugged her.

“Gonna be okay to drive?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“Okay.” She rubbed his back. “Just making sure.”

He pulled back enough to look her in the eye. “Thank you.”

She kissed him tenderly.

Henry cleared his throat. “I suppose we should make one more check-through just to be certain we’ve cleaned everything up.”

Dean sighed and let Zeetha go, and they followed Henry’s suggestion, finishing just about the time Jenny and her kids got home. By then, they’d all recovered enough to reassure Jenny that everything was fine, accept the box of photos she’d found in the basement, and take their leave. But Dean was drained, he realized as they drove away, drained enough that he probably wouldn’t be able to keep up his defenses against Missouri when they went back to say goodbye to her.

The funny thing was, he was really too tired to care what she’d see. And it didn’t matter quite so much anymore.

He had Mom back.

They had just turned the corner when Sam suddenly said, “Huh.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“I just realized. I don’t... I don’t know if Zanta did something, or if it’s because of what I did, fighting the poltergeist....”

“What?” Dean pressed, now alarmed.

Sam looked at him. “The itch stopped.”


	3. Snared

John Winchester let himself in Missouri’s back door. Whether the kids had figured out she’d know something or not, she was the only person in town he trusted to give him the straight skinny on what was going on—with the house, with the kids, with himself. He reserved the right not to take her advice, of course, but he had to know what it was first. He’d parked in the alley just in case and eased through the kitchen as silently as possible, not to sneak up on Missouri—that would be impossible—but to avoid alerting anyone else in the house that he was there.

He’d just gotten past the table when the front door opened and a woman’s voice called, “Missouri?”

“In here, honey,” Missouri called from the sitting room.

John quickly flattened himself against the wall next to the doorway. Footsteps—two—three—four people filed into the sitting room as Missouri stood with a gasp.

“My land,” she said slowly. “I didn’t even... _mercy_. Well, I’d say it’s a good thing your mama’s on our side, Princess.”

John blinked and dared to shift enough to see into the sitting room. Sure enough, there were the kids... how had he not recognized their tread or Zeetha’s voice? Dean looked exhausted; Sammy was taller than John remembered and looked like a lost puppy. Then John got a good look at the fourth member of the group, and his heart almost stopped.

Pops.

“The poltergeist is gone for good, then?” Pops—or the thing that looked like him—asked.

“I’d say so,” Missouri told him, then turned and took both of Sam’s hands. “Even if it ain’t destroyed completely, it’s bound to be weakened so severely that the gris-gris bags should keep it from comin’ back enough to attack again.” She looked Sam in the eye. “You saved Jenny’s life. That’s a good thing.”

“Missouri, what’s happening to me?” Sam asked quietly.

Missouri shook her head. “I don’t know, and that’s the plain truth. But you’re a natural-born helper, you and Dean both. You hold onto that.”

Sam nodded. “Thank you.”

Missouri hugged him, then Dean, Zeetha, and Pops. “Y’all be safe drivin’ home, now,” she concluded.

Dean nodded. “Thanks, Missouri. And if you hear from Dad....”

“I’ll tell him to get in touch with you.”

Dean nodded again. “Thanks.” And the four of them left.

Missouri waited until several seconds after the front door closed to say, “Come on out, John.”

“Hi, Missouri,” John said and walked into the sitting room.

She turned to him. “You ain’t carryin’ a hex bag, like they are. Dunno why psychics as powerful as Sam and Zeetha couldn’t sense you when you were this close.”

“Not a hex bag,” he admitted and took off his watch to show her the sigil engraved on the back. It was supposed to block the senses of demons and fae in particular.

She smacked him upside the head. “Why the hell are you runnin’ from your own kin?”

He huffed and put his watch back on. “Missouri—”

“Sam already knows what’s wrong with him. He knows more’n you do by now. He’s scared stiff you think he’s the devil incarnate and you’re plannin’ to kill him.”

“I would never—”

“ _I_ know that, but what’s the poor boy s’posed to think after you pulled that disappearin’ act?”

“That’s not why! The less they know—”

“The more they’ll hurt even if Azazel don’t get ahold of ’em!”

He felt the blood drain from his face. “Azazel? Where—”

“Zeetha’s mama helped Sam recover a memory of the night of the fire. Your daddy helped ’em narrow down the names. And yes, that is your father. He’s a Man of Letters, not that that name means anything to you. He knows all about the supernatural. They were attacked by Abaddon the night he disappeared; he used a time travel spell to escape.”

“How do you—”

“Same way I know you’re only here ’cause Dean called you. ’Cause he’s scared—scared enough to block me out the first time I tried to read ’im. And you’re scared, too, and for some o’ the right reasons... but it’s blindin’ you to the real danger and the real way out of it.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She grabbed his shoulders and lowered her voice, her accent lessening in her earnestness. “John, listen to me. There’s a powerful evil out there, and it’s looking for _you_. It won’t follow your sons; it can’t. But if you don’t go after them now, right this minute, leave your truck when you catch up and go with them in their car to where they’re going, that evil’s gonna find you and use you for its own ends.”

“Missouri—”

“You’re not half as well protected as you think you are. They’re twice as prepared for this thing as you are, more than twice as safe as you think you’re keeping them by staying away. This thing that’s after you, _you know its name_ , but you’ve still got a blind spot a mile wide that leaves you wide open, gonna walk right into her trap, and you’ll be lucky to get out alive. Your boys can protect you... but you’ve got to go after them _now_. They’re your only hope of keeping out of her clutches.”

He pulled out of her grasp and stepped back. “If it’s after me, I can’t afford to lead it right to the boys.”

“ _That’s my point!_ If you go after them, she’ll lose your trail the moment you make contact. If you don’t, she’ll use you as bait, try to bring them to her.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be on my guard.” He turned and stormed back toward the back door.

“John!”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“Don’t look for the living among the dead.”

“Spare me the sermon,” he snarled and left.

“JOHN!” she hollered after him, but he didn’t turn back.

* * *

_This isn’t going to work_ , said Zola Malfeazium.

“Shut up,” said Lucrezia Mongfish and slid her carefully-prepared charm into place.

The advantage of this particular charm in this particular location was that the target couldn’t see it and the... genetic material couldn’t miss it. The target wasn’t even aware that his DNA was being harvested for a purpose other than pleasure, which was always a risk with blood, saliva, or hair. The disadvantage was that the spell took a few moments to activate—and Lucrezia had used it only once before, the night she broke up with Klaus. She hadn’t needed it with Aaron Sturmvoraus; she hadn’t wanted it with Bill Sanders. It had worked beautifully on Klaus, though, and it was essentially unbreakable because only the caster could revoke it by destroying the charm. It was also far more elegant than Father’s will-draining spell, not to mention more fun. Father’s spell turned the target into little more than a revenant, and John’s sons would suspect something was wrong immediately if he weren’t able to function more or less normally while under her control.

Once the charm was in place, Lucrezia took the utmost care in dressing the body she was sharing with Zola, applying her makeup with calculated precision and feathering her hair just so. Then she left for Lawrence.

John was easy to find, thanks to a tracking coin one of Azazel’s children had placed in his truck a few weeks earlier. He’d just left Missouri Mosely’s house when Lucrezia arrived, and he drove off to spend a few minutes staring at his old home and thinking about Mary. Lucrezia followed, hid herself across the street, and hit John with a couple of grief-amplifying spells before jumping across to hide in the bed of his truck. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he left, drove around town aimlessly for a while, and then headed east; he managed to get as far as Kansas City before seeking the solace of a bar. She applied a light glamour to herself and followed him inside, ordering a daiquiri for herself and keeping out of his line of sight until he had several rounds of whiskey behind his belt. When his shot-pouring coordination began to slip, however, she drained her glass, walked up beside him to return the glass to the bartender, and turned and gasped as if she hadn’t recognized him before.

“John?” she asked.

Startled, he looked up and almost fell off the stool. “ _Mary?!_ ”

She laughed. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

“What—how—I mean—”

“Shh.”

She kissed him, knowing the love potion in her lipstick would have immediate effect. And it did. He kissed her back hungrily, passionately, giving her the chance to slip a hex bag into his pocket that would not only strengthen the love potion’s effects but also cause him to see her only as Mary, even without the glamour. She broke the kiss and pulled back just enough to see his eyes flash pink as the spell took hold. A besotted smile spread across his face, and he kissed her again; she dropped the glamour, and he didn’t seem to notice.

Neither the potion nor the hex bag was intended to be anything more than a temporary measure. Even so, they were doing their job. She had him for now. In a matter of hours, she’d have him for good.

“Let’s get out of here, huh?” she asked when he finally came up for air.

“Thought I’d never see you again,” he whispered.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

“Yeah.”

She left enough money on the bar to pay for the drinks, flashed black eyes at the security camera briefly, and steered John out to his truck. He kept staring at her, grinning sloppily, as she drove around for a few minutes, making sure traffic cameras would pick up the truck and its occupants—she did want the boys to come ‘rescue’ John once he was fully programmed. Occasionally he’d murmur some inanity and reach over to touch her shoulder or her cheek. When he finally reached for her knee, though, she knew it was time to find a motel.

By the time she got checked in and got him into the room, the combined force of the potion and the hex bag had put him safely under. He couldn’t keep his hands, or his mouth, off of her. He didn’t hesitate when she ordered him to strip, and she didn’t even have to order him into bed.

Zola was wrong. Lucrezia had John right where she wanted him. Everything was going exactly according to plan.

* * *

The drive to the bunker was quiet, apart from the radio. Dean and Zeetha didn’t even think to each other much that Sam could tell, which made him feel equal parts guilty and relieved. He didn’t want to interfere with their marriage, but being able to sense their using the link but not hear what they were saying was almost as bad as people speaking to each other in a foreign language they knew he didn’t know. They weren’t doing it to be rude, he knew, but it still got to him.

Then again, that might have distracted him from whatever the hell he’d done to that poltergeist. He couldn’t really say he was _sorry_ for doing it, all things considered, although the headache still hadn’t gone away completely. Not only had he saved Jenny and her kids, but he’d also saved Mom. He didn’t know what Mom had planned to do to kick the poltergeist out, but it was a sure bet that she wouldn’t have been in good enough shape afterward for Zanta to bring her back like that. But whatever he’d done, even the instinct to do it, never mind the power... he didn’t know where it had come from. Add the sudden disappearance of the itch that seemed to have been caused by Azazel’s blood-spell, and the result was one very nervous Sam.

The thing was, it had felt good, doing that. He’d felt strong, powerful, useful, important. Part of him craved more. Yet he knew—he _knew_ —that if that power had come from the demon blood, it was cursed, not a gift to be explored and encouraged but a poison to be used cautiously, if at all.

Maybe now that Mom was back, he could talk these things over with her. He couldn’t talk to Dad for obvious reasons, and he knew it freaked Dean out, even though Dean himself was developing powers because of Zeetha and Zeetha, Gil, and Agatha had powers inherent to their natures. But Mom... he knew she felt guilty about the deal, but maybe she could give him a different perspective on things. Maybe her side of the family knew things that could actually help.

The Winchesters stopped in Mankato for supper, but Mom and Zanta didn’t join them. In fact, they didn’t appear until Dean stopped the Impala outside the bunker’s garage and Sam got out to open the door for him. Zeetha waved, but neither Dean nor Henry seemed to notice.

“Never seen a fairy mound with a garage before,” Mom said bemusedly as Dean drove into the tunnel.

Sam laughed. “It’s not a fairy mound. It’s a bunker, built by humans. Zanta just helped us lock out any unwanted guests. C’mon in.” He ushered Mom and Zanta inside and closed the door, which automatically locked, before escorting them down to the second set of doors, which Zeetha was opening, and thence into the garage itself.

“Can’t believe John kept that old car,” Mom said as Dean parked. “He bought it used just a few days before we got engaged.” She ran a hand over the trunk, then huffed and smiled. “You know, Dean was conceived in the back seat.”

“Mom!” Dean yelped as he got out, blushing.

“Explains a lot,” Sam deadpanned.

“Oh, shut up, Sam,” Dean jabbed and blushed harder.

Zeetha laughed and kissed his cheek. “You’re adorable.”

“Says you,” he returned and kissed her back.

Just then, Jess ran up the stairs from the main floor. “Sam!” she called, beaming, and ran around the car and up to Sam but stopped short in surprise when she saw Mom.

Sam cleared his throat. “Mom, this is my girlfriend, Jess Moore. Jess, this is my mom.”

Mom looked oddly pained, but it passed quickly.

Jess blinked rapidly. “Your—your _mom?!_ But I thought—”

“She was dead, yeah. Zanta brought her back a few hours ago.”

Mom took a deep breath, smiled, and offered her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Jessica.”

“Likewise,” Jess replied and shook Mom’s hand. “Sorry, it’s just... wow. How did a poltergeist hunt turn into this?”

“Seriously,” Sam agreed. “Mom was trapped in the house with the poltergeist. We didn’t know for sure it was her until Henry summoned her out of the woodwork.”

Dean frowned. “Wait a minute. I don’t remember the word ‘poltergeist’ bein’ used until after we picked you guys up on the way to Missouri’s.”

“Oh, uh. I... called while we were waiting for you.”

Zeetha backed him up with a nod when Dean looked at her in surprise. “He said he could feel Jess worrying halfway across the state.”

Jess blushed and slid her hand into Sam’s, and Sam chuckled ruefully.

Dean raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. “O-kay. Well. Mom, you wanna come on downstairs and meet everyone? I know you don’t have any luggage, but maybe you can borrow from Sleipnir until we can get to a Walmart.”

Mom took a deep breath and smiled a shade too brightly. “Yes! Good idea. Thank you, Dean.” She threaded her arm through Dean’s and let him steer her toward the stairs; Henry followed them, and Zeetha and Zanta followed him.

Jess looked at Sam. “Are you okay?”

Sam nodded a little. “Will be. C’mon.”

She kissed his cheek, and they fell in behind Zeetha and Zanta.

They had just started down the hall toward the command center, however, when Sam suddenly felt something scuttling up his leg and yelped, dropping Jess’ hand. It was past his hip before he could even try to shake it off, and as he wobbled, antennae tickled his cheek as claws brushed his other ear.

Then his brain caught up as he regained his balance, and he let out a relieved huff, returned the hug, and patted the hard-shelled back. “Hey, Zoing.”

Zoing’s antennae danced over Sam’s cheek again, almost like kisses, as the rest of the group stopped and turned to look. “Is that a _lobster?_ ” Mom asked.

“Yup,” Dean confirmed.

“I’ve never seen one that big before.”

“Gil’s had Zoing as long as we’ve known ’im. Probably in his late teens by now.”

“I’m _so_ sorry, Sam!” Ardsley Wooster called, running up behind them. “Zoing’s been so dreadfully worried while you’ve been gone, we’ve taken to letting him out to wander the halls so he doesn’t wear a hole in the floor of his tank from pacing so much.”

“Well, this is the longest Gil’s left him,” Sam admitted, handing Zoing off to Ardsley. “I don’t think any of us knew we’d be gone for three months; if we had, we might have tried to fit his tank in one of our cars.”

“We’ve kept him entertained,” Jess said. “But it’s been pretty obvious that he’s missed you guys.”

Now that Zoing had a better view of everyone else, he waved a claw at Dean, who waved back, and then startled and waved both claws at Mom.

“Hullo, who’s this?” Ardsley asked at the same time.

“Our mom,” Dean answered. “Mom, Ardsley Wooster. He’s one of the founding members of the Adventure Club, used to be Gil’s roommate.”

Zanta took Zoing and let him perch on her shoulder like a parrot, and Ardsley shook hands with Mom with an astonished “I _say!_ ”

Mom laughed. “Nice to meet you, Ardsley.”

“Delighted, Mrs. Winchester, absolutely delighted.” Then Ardsley turned to Sam and clapped him on the shoulder. “I _say_ , old bean!”

Sam couldn’t help laughing at that. “Seriously.”

Van von Mekkhan called something in Romanian from further down the hall, and Ardsley turned to call back, “Van! Come and meet the late Mrs. Winchester!”

“The _what?!_ ” Van squawked and came running. “Don’t tell me we’ve got zombies!”

Mom laughed even harder at that. “No such luck, I’m afraid. I never did like eating brains.”

“And a good job, too,” said Ardsley. “We haven’t any coffins about to stake you into.”

Sam, Dean, and Zeetha all snorted at that.

Van gasped as he ran up beside Sam. “ _Fulger dulce_ *—Dean, she looks just like you!”

“So I’ve heard,” Dean said, looking a little uncomfortable and probably remembering one of Dad’s drunken rambles.

Van shook his head and offered Mom his hand. “ _Îmi pare rău._ ** Van von Mekkhan. It’s an honor, Mrs. Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you, Van,” Mom replied and shook his hand.

“You certainly weren’t the parent we were expecting your sons to come back with!”

Sam and Dean both grimaced.

“Has there been any progress on tracking John?” Henry asked.

“Not yet,” Van answered. “Ash had to sign off to go tend bar for the evening, since Jo is away, so Colette’s taken over trying to hack into John’s phone and turn on the GPS remotely. If that fails, or if they can’t get a hit, Ash is planning to move on to vehicle recognition systems to locate at least John’s truck. Theo and Sleipnir are still chatting with Gil and Agatha, though, or they were a minute ago when I came after Ardsley and Zoing.”

Dean nodded. “Awesome. Let’s go check in with them, then.”

With that, they all trooped off to the command center for more introductions and astonishment. Tarvek and Colette were available on the video chat, too, and offered their room for Mom to sleep in, which she accepted gladly. So while Van and Ardsley went off to make those arrangements and bring the Winchesters’ bags in from the car, the Winchester men gave Mom the grand tour of the bunker. Yet somehow Mom seemed most focused on Dean. Almost all of her questions were directed to him, sometimes to Henry, but hardly ever to Sam. Even when Sam did speak up, Mom barely acknowledged him before going back to talking to Dean.

This... really wasn’t the way Sam had expected the evening to go.

By the time they got back to the library, the Wulfenbachs and Murphys had signed off for the night, and Theo was triumphantly carrying in a bucket of ice with a bottle stuck in it. “Perfect timing!” he crowed. “This should just about be ready to serve.”

“You didn’t _make_ that, did you?” Dean asked warily.

Sleipnir barked a laugh from where and Jess setting out champagne glasses. “He’s not after killin’ your mum after you just got her back.”

Theo set down the bucket, put a hand to his chest, and rolled his eyes skyward. “I am _mortally_ offended!” he proclaimed, but he couldn’t hold back a grin, and everyone laughed. “No, no, I found this in the wine cellar. Figured now was as good a time as any to get it out and have a little celebration.”

Henry inspected the bottle and nodded. “Good vineyard, good vintage—pre-war and from Champagne, so it should be even better after all these years than it was when it was bought.”

Theo nodded back and set about opening the bottle just as everyone else came in. He poured, and Sleipnir and Jess served.

“Haven’t had real champagne in a long time,” Mom admitted as Jess handed her a glass. “I mean, even without the last couple of decades factored in.”

“All the more reason to have some now,” Jess replied with a smile.

Once everyone was served, Theo raised his glass. “To Mrs. Winchester. May her second chance at life be far longer than her first.”

“To Mrs. Winchester!” everyone else echoed, with a scattered “To Mary!” and “To Mom!” in the mix, and drank the toast.

Mom blushed a little and took a sip of champagne. She looked around at everyone, smiling wryly, then took a deep breath and turned—to Ardsley. “So, uh, is... is _Doctor Who_ still on? What Doctor are they up to now?”

Ardsley looked flummoxed. “Er, well, really, I—”

Sam had finally had enough of being ignored. “I’m goin’ to bed,” he snarled, thocked his empty glass down on the table, and stormed off toward his room.

He was almost to the door when he heard, “Wait! Sam, _wait!_ ” He looked back to see Jess running after him.

He flung the door open and jerked his head to say _Get in here_. She hurried in ahead of him. He slammed the door shut behind them and spun her into a passionate kiss.

“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” she chided with a bit of a laugh when he came up for air.

“No?”

“I just wanted to see if you were all right. I mean, we haven’t even had much of a chance to talk.”

He kissed her again. “Any objections?”

“We can talk later,” she purred and kissed him back.

* * *

Lucrezia couldn’t suppress a satisfied groan as she stretched out beside John. The charm was already activating, and she really was enjoying herself thoroughly. It was so very lovely to have a real body again, to experience all these delightful sensations again, to have a living man—a man like _John Winchester_ —doing her bidding without question....

“Who are you?”

She blinked and turned her head toward him. “What?”

“You’re not my wife,” he growled. “You don’t act the same. You don’t smell the same. You don’t _feel_ the same.”

She giggled. “John, you’re drunk. Of course I’m your wife.”

“No,” he insisted and pulled away from her. “No, you’re not. Mary’s dead. Something’s wrong... some... something’s wrong with my head. I can’t think. What the hell are you doing to me?!” He lurched out of bed and started toward the pile of his clothes on the floor, probably to get his gun, but he only got a few steps before faltering to a stop, shaking his head as if that could throw off the spell being cast by the charm. Then he grunted a couple of times and went still with a deep sigh, the tension draining from his frame as the spell took hold completely.

“ **Go take a shower, John** ,” she ordered.

“Yeah,” he breathed and stumbled into the bathroom.

 _I_ told _you this wouldn’t work_ , Zola said as soon as the bathroom door was shut.

“Shut _up_ ,” Lucrezia growled and snagged the lighter and pack of cigarettes out of her purse.

_Hey, my VOICE!_

Lucrezia lit a cigarette, took a deep, steadying drag, and blew out the smoke. _As if you’ll ever dance again after I’m done with you. Face it, Zola dear, your entertainment career is over. Lord Azazel’s already seen to that._

Zola lapsed into sulky silence as Lucrezia smoked and John showered. When Lucrezia finished, one quick spell got rid of the evidence, and another got her ready to cement her hold over John.

 _Look_ , Zola finally spoke up again. _If there’s one thing I know from observing Sam, it’s that the Winchesters’ minds are too strong for anything but full thrall._

 _You know why we can’t do that_ , Lucrezia returned. _Just leave this to me._

 _Well, will you at least let me drive this time? After all, it’s my body you’re using, and I_ would _like a chance to have my own way with him._

Lucrezia considered the request briefly before realizing that Zola was planning, once back in control, to cast a binding spell that would keep Lucrezia permanently in the back seat. _Oh, no_ , she replied. _It’s past your bedtime. Nighty-night, darling._ And before Zola could fight back, Lucrezia bound her consciousness completely.

Just then, the bathroom door opened, and John shuffled out in a cloud of steam, clutching a towel around his waist and looking lost. When he finally caught sight of Lucrezia, he grinned and relaxed. “There y’are,” he slurred and started back toward the bed, but he’d only gotten halfway when he stopped, blinking and frowning. Then he turned and started toward his clothes again.

Lucrezia had to think fast. Reaching out with her power, she grabbed the hex bag out of his pocket and threw it into his free hand. He stopped again, reeling and staring at the hex bag, and his eyes flashed pink. When he looked up at her again, she threw back the covers with a smoldering smile. He grinned, dropped the towel, and staggered back to the bed. She put the hex bag under his pillow for safety and turned her attention to getting what she wanted from him.

Again, she succeeded. She could feel the charm’s power strengthening as they parted, and she kissed John’s cheek for good measure.

But again he asked, “Who th’ell are you? What’re you doin’ to me?”

“Shh,” she replied. “ **Go to sleep, John.** ”

His eyelids fluttered as he fought the command, but then he was out. She lay back with a sigh and decided that, while she wasn’t ready to give up on Plan A quite yet, it was time to figure out Plan B.

* * *

* Sweet lightning (Romanian)  
** I’m sorry (Romanian)


	4. Deeper Trouble

Dean woke early Friday morning with one thought on his mind: fixing breakfast in bed for Mom. He’d gotten pretty good at breakfasts over the years, and he’d secretly checked the night before to make sure there were plenty of eggs, bacon, and milk and that his sourdough starter was still in good shape (there were, and it was). He wanted to do something special for her with his own two hands—not that the champagne hadn’t been special, but it hadn’t been scratch-made by a Winchester. So leaving Zeetha still mostly asleep, he dressed quickly and headed off to the kitchen, where Van had just finished starting the coffee.

“That is a smell I have missed,” Dean stated as he walked in.

Van laughed. “Isn’t Agatha’s coffee any good?”

“Agatha wasn’t the problem. Sinclair’s taste was _lousy_ —all he had was, like, a year’s supply of instant Starbucks. I mean, you’d think a guy like that would at least go for a French roast.”

“Really. Didn’t he even have a percolator?”

“If he did, we didn’t find it.”

Van shuddered. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste. Master Neptune won’t drink anything but red wine.”

“Yeah, but that probably goes with the aesthetic of bein’ the son of a bloodthirsty battle goddess.”

“Mm, true.” Van put his treasured bag of coffee beans and the coffee grinder back in the cabinet where they belonged. “Are you cooking this morning?”

“Yeah, thought I’d surprise Mom.”

“Great! Sleipnir’s been in for tea and cereal, but nobody else mentioned having specific plans. Ardsley and your grandfather are working in the library, but I don’t think they’ve eaten.”

Dean nodded. “Thanks. I’m thinkin’ pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and sourdough biscuits—maybe biscuits and gravy.”

Van’s stomach growled, and both men laughed. “Sounds excellent,” Van stated. “And as soon as the coffee’s ready, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to get started on my next batch of immigration paperwork.”

“Explains the double batch,” Dean said, waving at the two 12-cup French press pots that were standing on the counter on the far side of the sink.

“Yes, it promises to be a long day.” Van scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m actually glad Sam broke up the party so early last night. Not that I’m blaming Theo; the champagne was a nice gesture. But I have a feeling he would have given in to the urge to experiment after the champagne ran out if Sam hadn’t left, and we’d all be hung over this morning.”

Dean made a non-committal noise and got out the flour and sugar to avoid having to talk about the scene Sam had caused. Mom had tried to call Sam back and apologize—for what, Dean still wasn’t sure—but Sam hadn’t seemed to hear her, and then Jess had run off after him and hadn’t come back. Ardsley had been mortified, and only Zeetha’s quick excuse-making and Henry’s readiness with another toast had kept the evening from becoming a complete disaster. Dean and Zeetha had silently agreed that they needed to have a talk with Sam this morning before matters got any worse.

Van let the conversation lapse there while Dean got to work on the pancake batter, and by the time Van left with a travel mug for himself and regular mugs for Henry and Ardsley, the rhythm of frying pancakes and drinking from his own mug of rich black coffee had stuffed the problem of Sam back in its box and put Dean in a better mood. He scarcely noticed when Ardsley came in for refills or when Henry came to claim three short stacks to take back to the library; all his attention was on each of the stages of his plan to fix breakfast for everyone, especially for Mom.

He had just set the last biscuits to fry in the bacon grease while he assembled Mom’s tray when there was a knock on the doorframe and Theo came in, looking worried. “Dean?”

“Hey, Theo!” Dean returned. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah, uh, Sleipnir wanted to get an early start, get over to Mankato and back before the crowds get bad. She’d been planning on a Walmart run today anyway, but with your mom here... well, we got her measurements last night, so she won’t have to go another day without a change of clothes and such.”

Dean nodded. “Great. Thanks.”

Theo poured himself a cup of coffee, took a drink, and sighed. “I found Jess in Sam’s room.”

“So what? You know how long they’ve been livin’ together.”

“You don’t understand. When I came back down from seeing Sleipnir off, I could hear them from the hallway. I don’t think your mom could overhear anything, and Henry was already in the library, but... well, anyway, I... waited until I was sure they were finished before I knocked and went in. They were under the covers, so I didn’t, y’know, see anything, but she was lying on top of him, and... it was pretty obvious that she’d been there all night. And he couldn’t stop grinning, and she couldn’t stop giggling.”

Dean frowned and paused in his work. “Where are you goin’ with this?”

Theo took a deep breath. “I pointed out that it really wasn’t wise for them to be carrying on like that in shared quarters, especially with your mom and grandfather here. Sam said well, it wouldn’t be a problem as long as they got married, and Jess agreed. So he asked me to drive them across the state line so they could get married today, but not tell anyone—and he explicitly wanted me not to tell you.”

Dean’s frown deepened.

“I told him truthfully that I’d have to wait until Sleipnir got back, since I don’t have a key to any of the other cars. And then I asked them to meet me in here.”

Dean nodded slowly. “How long do we have?”

“At least fifteen minutes. I insisted that they get cleaned up first. But Sleipnir’s likely to be gone another two hours or more—not that I told them that.”

Dean nodded more decisively and quickly finished the biscuits and Mom’s tray. As he placed the last piece on the tray, he asked, “Would you mind deliverin’ this to Mom?”

“No, not at all.”

“Tell her I’m sorry I can’t bring it myself, but—”

“Something came up. Right.” Theo took the tray and started for the door.

“Oh, and Theo? Thanks.”

Theo smiled wryly and left.

Dean took a deep breath, let it out again, and scarfed down some bacon and a biscuit, which he washed down with the last of his coffee. Then he fed the starter, set the plates of food to keep warm, and stationed himself behind the door to wait.

About five minutes later, as Dean had expected, Sam walked in alone, humming under his breath. Dean let him get as far as the table before slamming the door shut, causing Sam to jump and spin around.

“Mornin’, Sam,” Dean said, crossing his arms. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

Sam huffed and relaxed. “Dean....”

“Do you seriously have to do this _now?_ After yesterday? We just got Mom back—”

“No, _you_ got Mom back. _I_ am apparently still six months old and have nothing to say.”

Dean blinked. Okay, that explained part of what had been going on last night. “Dude, you gotta give her a chance to adjust. She’s been dead for twenty-two years.”

“I know that, Dean. I can count. I’m not stupid.”

“Oh, and gettin’ it on with your girlfriend in front of God and everyone is _smart?_ ”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dude.”

“What if it hadn’t been Theo who walked in on you two?”

“We are _getting married_ , Dean. Is that a crime?”

“That’s not my point.”

“Missouri herself—”

“I know what Missouri told you, but she didn’t tell you to do it _today_.”

“Nobody says anything when you and Zeetha have sex, right? Nobody says anything when it’s Theo and Sleipnir, or Gil and Agatha, or Tarvek and Colette.”

“Dammit, Sam, I’m not tryin’ to _stop_ you from marryin’ Jess!”

“That’s sure as hell what it sounds like!”

“I’m ASKING you why the hell you have to get married TODAY!”

“Well, why not? It’s better than walking on eggshells and sneaking around trying not to upset Mom and Henry every time Jess and I want to make out. And if we move Jess into my room, that’ll mean Mom gets a room of her own.”

Dean ran a hand over his mouth as he tried to rein in his temper. “Okay, what about Jess’ parents? Don’t they have a right to be there?”

“Jess isn’t talking to her parents right now. They weren’t happy that she missed Thanksgiving, but they really got mad ’cause she took an Incomplete and broke our lease. They wouldn’t even pay for movers to get her stuff into a storage unit; if it hadn’t been for Theo and Sleipnir, she would have lost everything in the apartment. She told me last week she thought they might actually have been happier if she _had_ died in Brady’s attack.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, that’s healthy.”

Sam huffed again. “Dude, we know what that’s like. If one of us were in the hospital dying right now, Dad still wouldn’t answer his phone.”

“Okay, not waiting for Dad, I can get, except for the fact that he’s been _missing_ for five months and we need to find him before Azazel does. And yes,” Dean continued before Sam could object, “Dad’s life actually _is_ more important than you and Jess getting a license to—”

“Dean!”

“But what, you don’t want the rest of our family there? Mom, Henry, Zeetha? Hell, you want to do this _without me?!_ ”

“You and Zeetha didn’t wait!”

“You know damn well what happened with Zeetha an’ me, and we _did_ wait to make it official until you and the in-laws could go to the courthouse with us!”

Sam rolled his eyes again.

“I’m dead serious, Sam. Why the hell don’t you want your own family there?”

“It’s not MY family, Dean!” Sam exploded. “It’s YOUR family! The Adventure Club is all _your_ friends! Zeetha’s _your_ wife! Zanta’s _your_ mother-in-law! Henry hangs out with _you_ most—”

Dean frowned in confusion. “No, he doesn’t.”

“—Zanta brought Mom back for _your_ sake—”

Okay, this was beyond the point where Dean could get through with logic, but maybe he could get through with something else. He tuned out Sam’s ranting for a moment, closed his eyes, and focused, thinking maybe if he could just... reach... there, that was the brother-bond; the familiar resonance shivered through him as soon as his mind touched that particular string of his being. But Sam didn’t react, so Dean plucked a little more deliberately.

Sam’s breath caught, but that didn’t stop him. “Jess is the only person in this whole damn bunker who’s here for _me_ —”

Fed up, Dean wrapped a mental fist around the brother-bond and yanked, and Sam stumbled forward into his arms with a loud gasp.

“What the hell?!” Sam wheezed.

Dean kept his eyes screwed shut and his concentration on holding tight to the brother-bond. “You feel that?” he gritted out and tugged a little.

“Yeah. What’s....”

“That’s you an’ me, little bro. That’s our bond.”

“What?!”

“I got your initials carved into my heart, Sammy, just the same as you carved ’em into Baby. Reckon you got mine the same way. Ain’t nothin’ an’ nobody gonna sever this bond; ain’t no other bond in the world can touch it. An’ there ain’t nobody I would ever put in front of you—not Mom, not Dad, not Zeetha. Nobody.”

Sam’s breath hitched a couple of times. “Dean....”

“I know Mom’s still kinda messed up, but she loves you, too. So does Henry. So do Zeetha an’ Zanta. Us an’ the in-laws saved Jess for you, remember? And the Adventure Club—man, the whole reason they’re here is ’cause of you. Or did you forget who talked Dad into lettin’ you go to Stanford?”

Sam had his nose pressed against Dean’s shoulder now, so when he blinked in confusion, his eyelashes brushed Dean’s neck. “You did,” he mumbled.

“ _And Gil_. If it hadn’t been for Gil an’ Agatha, and if the Adventure Club hadn’t been there to keep you safe, there’s no way in hell Dad woulda let you go, no matter what I said.”

Sam clung to Dean and started crying. “I’m so sorry, Dean. You’re right. I forgot. I don’t... I dunno what the hell’s gotten into me.”

Keeping a tight mental hold on the brother-bond, Dean rubbed Sam’s back, took a deep breath, and let it out again. “I got a good guess.”

“You... you think I got whammied?”

“Not exactly. Not a new thing, anyway. ’Member I thought yesterday was a trap?”

“Yeah. Missouri didn’t contradict you. But she said Azazel couldn’t even know we were there, so if he was trying to catch us....”

“What if he wasn’t? What if the whole point was to get you to do what you did to the poltergeist?”

“You mean... the-the powers....”

“From the demon blood, yeah. You said you noticed the rage gettin’ worse ’fore the visions even hit....”

Sam swore bitterly into Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey. It’s okay, Sammy. We’re gonna find a way to stop this, all of us. Even Zanta. Even Mom.”

“What if you can’t? What if—”

“Uh-uh. That’s quitter talk. Dad an’ Klaus didn’t raise no quitters.”

Sam sobbed again. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean just rubbed his back. “It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay.”

He didn’t know how long they stood there like that until Sam finally let go and straightened up, which prompted Dean to let go of the brother-bond and realize that he had a snotty overshirt and a headache. “Man,” he said, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it on a chair while Sam dried his face with a paper towel. “Dunno about you, but after that, I need more coffee.”

Sam huffed a laugh, tossed his paper towel in the trash, and went to the carafe Van had transferred the coffee into. “Sleipnir’s not gonna be back before lunch, is she?”

“Probably not.”

“Shoulda known. Dammit, Theo.”

“You wanna slug him for that, I got a feelin’ he’ll let you.”

Sam actually chuckled and handed Dean his refilled mug before going to the fridge for the fancy vanilla soy creamer he liked. Seconds later, he turned back to Dean with his own mug of coffee raised in salute. Dean nodded and clinked mugs with him, and they drank.

Before the conversation could continue, however, Dean suddenly heard _It’s me_ before Zeetha knocked and opened the door. “Need you guys in the command center,” she said. “Ash has something on your dad. Sounds like bad news.”

Sam snagged a few biscuits and tossed one to Zeetha, who also swiped some bacon telekinetically, and the three of them strode out of the kitchen together. Dean glanced back to make sure Sam was eating, and he was; at his nod, Dean turned to Zeetha, who was gobbling down her bacon, and offered her his coffee to wash it down with. She accepted and eased his headache in thanks.

“What about Bobby?” Henry was asking as they came within earshot.

“Already gone home,” Ash replied. “An’ Ellen said she ain’t gettin’ up ’fore noon ’less the bar’s on fire. I mean, if Her Majesty wants to jump straight there....”

“I am not yet certain how best I should intervene,” Zanta stated. “That is not to say I will do nothing, only that I do not yet have a plan.”

“Then it’s pretty much a toss-up as to which group can get to ’im first. Gil an’ Aggie might could, but....”

“There may well be wards they can’t pass,” Henry agreed. “And if he moves, we lose him again anyway.”

“All right, we’re here,” Gil’s voice said suddenly just as Dean, Zeetha, and Sam reached the doorway.

“So are we,” Dean announced and strode around to stand beside Henry, facing the video screens. Ash had dark circles under his eyes; Gil was just sitting down on the couch beside Tarvek, but neither Agatha nor Colette was with them.

“Colette’s asleep,” Tarvek explained before Dean could ask. “Agatha’s in the sitting room, working on a tracking program.”

“Gotcha. What’s up, Ash?”

Ash sighed heavily and held up a hand. “I wanna say this up front, y’all. I gotta explain how I got to this point ’fore I give you the details in the order I found ’em. Ain’t gonna do nobody no good to go harin’ off after John without the full story.”

“Understood,” said Sam.

“All right. Colette’s been up all night tryin’ to get GPS workin’ on your daddy’s phone, cain’t get it. Either he’s got a phone that don’t have GPS at all, or somethin’s blockin’ it. What Aggie’s workin’ on now is a program that’ll track ’im with cell tower hits, but it ain’t like that’ll be infallible, either.”

“Right,” the brothers chorused.

“So what I done is query vehicle ID systems for your daddy’s license plate. Got some hits from yesterday, all in the same town. Took a while, but I finally got visual.” Ash did something, and his screen switched to a still from a stoplight camera, showing Dad’s truck—with two people in it.

Sam stepped forward, frowning. “Dad’s not driving. His hands aren’t that small.”

“’Swhat I thought,” Ash agreed. “Never could get a clear face shot from the traffic cameras, but I finally found out where he picked up his passenger. Little dive bar, ain’t much to it, but I managed to get security video.”

The screen switched again to video of Dad sitting at a bar and drinking with a bottle of whiskey in front of him. From the slump of his shoulders, the slowness with which he set down his shot glass and reached for the bottle, and the way the bottle wavered as he poured another drink, it was obvious that he’d had a few too many. Then a blonde sauntered up to the bar to return an empty glass—and Dean’s back straightened in surprise.

Henry inhaled sharply. “That looks like—”

“But it can’t be,” Sam insisted. “Mom was with us—she was _here_ when that footage was taken.” He pointed to the timestamp. “There’s no way she could have been at that bar!”

“Keep watchin’,” Ash said as the blonde made contact with Dad.

After a brief exchange of words, the blonde kissed Dad, and he kissed back with rather disturbing ferocity. She slipped something into his pocket—he _had_ to have been hammered to miss that—and he caught his breath and kissed her again. In the middle of the second kiss, the blonde’s appearance shifted to a broader, curvier figure... and Gil and Sam both swore at the same time.

“What?” Dean asked.

“ZOLA!” Gil and Sam chorused.

Heart pounding, Dean watched as Zola paid for the drinks and looked at the security camera; he thought her eyes turned black for a moment, but it was so quick he couldn’t be sure. Then she grinned and led Dad away.

“You’re sure?” Zeetha asked Sam.

“Positive,” Sam replied. “I’d know her anywhere. Van, Ardsley, you’ve seen her before, right?”

Dean hadn’t noticed Van and Ardsley standing behind Henry, but there they were, exchanging a look. “She did look a bit familiar,” Ardsley admitted.

“Who what?” Jess asked as she walked in. “What’s going on?”

“Jess, c’mere,” Sam said. “Ash, would you run it back and stop when she’s looking at the camera? Maybe zoom in a little?”

“Roger,” said Ash and did so as Jess came around beside Sam.

As the image zoomed in, Jess gasped loudly. “That _is_ Zola! And is that....”

“Our dad,” Sam confirmed.

“What... why....”

“That’s the question. Where’d they go from there?”

“Motel,” Ash replied and switched his feed back to his own webcam. “I’ll spare you the pictures, but ain’t no question they’re there. Office cam showed Zola checkin’ in, an’ there’s another cam shows the room doors, recorded Zola takin’ your dad into one. Ain’t left all night, an’ the truck’s still there.”

“Oh, that’s bad,” Tarvek said for all of them.

“Where is he, Ash?” Dean demanded, knowing he probably wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Kansas City,” Ash answered quietly. “Kansas side, just off I-70... on the west end o’ town. And that bar where she picked ’im up, he’da had to be on the eastbound side to even see it.”

Dean swore bitterly at the top of his lungs.

“Dean!” Mom chided, coming in from the bedroom wing at that moment, followed by Theo.

Dean rounded on her, pointing at the screen. “Dad was in Lawrence. He was in Lawrence the whole time, and he didn’t even try to contact us! And now _Zola’s_ got him!”

“Hey, hey, Dean, calm down,” Sam said, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “At least we know where he is now. We’ll get him back.”

Dean ran a hand over his mouth. “Sammy, do you know how far it is from here to Kansas City? Do you _know_ what Zola could be _doin’ to Dad_ before we can even get there?!”

* * *

Lucrezia pulled the charm out of its hiding place and looked at it with a sigh. John was fighting the spell a lot more successfully than Klaus had even tried to; she couldn’t be sure her orders would stick once she let John leave her side. She just didn’t know whether to give Plan A one last try or move on to more drastic measures.

Before she could decide, the blade of a knife suddenly pressed against her throat. “I’m gonna ask you this one more time,” John growled in her ear. “Who. The hell. Are you?”

Right, time for Plan B. Lucrezia curled her hand around the charm, and he tensed as her hold on him strengthened again. “Be a dear and **bring one of those cups over here** , will you, John?” she asked.

He struggled against the order for a moment, but then he reached for one of the plastic cups that stood on the sink.

“ **Hold it just under the knife**.”

She could sense his confusion, but he did what she said.

“Now **open wide and hold still**.”

After another struggle, she felt his jaw lower to touch her borrowed skull. Perfect. She set the charm on fire and jumped from Zola to John in the same moment. By the time she established control, John had slit Zola’s throat, and the plastic cup was almost full of blood. She quickly used her telekinesis to bind that wound and the place where Azazel had slashed Zola’s spine; she wasn’t quite finished with Zola yet. Then she bound John’s consciousness, used his right arm to brace Zola against herself better, pulled the cup back to where she could speak into it better, and called Azazel.

 _What in Lucifer’s name_ — Azazel began before he seemed to realize who’d called. _Lucrezia, what the hell?!_

“I know, my lord,” she replied, having a little trouble adjusting to hearing a male voice when she spoke. “But the thrall wouldn’t take. I had no choice.”

_Those sons of his aren’t going to be fooled this way!_

“They won’t have to be. I’ve got another idea for how we can still force all three of them into a corner.”

Azazel paused, probably weighing his words in case John was aware enough to listen. _You do know the order in which everything has to be done._

“I do, my lord.”

_Very well. I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you fail._

“No, my lord. But I won’t fail. I swear it.”

 _I’ll hold you to that._ And he ended the call.

Zola was crying silently by the time Lucrezia set the cup in the sink and turned to consider the pair of them in the mirror. _Please_ , she mouthed. _Please, Auntie Lucrezia... I can still help you...._

“Oh, but you will, darling,” she rumbled, relishing the look of black eyes and a cruel smile on John’s face—enough to wake him up to see it just before she pressed a kiss to the back of Zola’s ear. “You’re about to give the most important performance of your life. You see, dear John is rather upset with you, knowing the way you’ve been manipulating his precious Sam. I’m going to give him a lovely present in a moment, and I’m going to put you on every front page in the country.”

 _You wouldn’t dare!_ John and Zola chorused.

Lucrezia chuckled—oh, she could get used to this voice after all. “I’m a demon, darlings. I’ll do more than dare it.”

With that, she wrestled Zola back into the bedroom and onto the bed, then scratched a binding link in John’s forearm, just deep enough to last for a couple of days. Next she found and destroyed the hex bag, since it wasn’t needed any longer. The cup in the bathroom could wait, she decided, but someone had left a bottle of whiskey in the nightstand, so she took a couple of long drinks just to ensure that John’s BAC was properly high when she finally left him to the police. Alcohol didn’t have much effect on her anymore, but she still felt a bit of a kick from it—though not as much as the thrill she got from thinking of how badly John’s sons would panic once they got word.

“Now,” she announced, setting down the whiskey and turning back to the bed, knife at the ready. “Hold still, dear. I’m going to make you a star.”

Zola tried to scream, but John had already destroyed her larynx. Lucrezia grinned and gleefully began to carve.

* * *

“HEY!” Ash interrupted. “I got visual on your dad!”

Sam and Dean stopped arguing and turned to view the security camera feed Ash had patched into. Sure enough, there was Dad coming out of his motel room alone, wearing the same clothes he’d had on the night before—but it looked like he was _giggling_ , and his walk was all wrong as he went down the sidewalk toward the office.

“The hell?” Dean asked.

Dad passed from that camera’s field of vision, and a moment later, he walked into the motel office and spoke to the clerk.

“Can you get audio on this, Ash?” Sam asked.

“Negatory,” Ash replied. “Sorry, amigo.”

Dad tossed his room key onto the counter and reached back, evidently for his wallet. The clerk turned away for a moment—but when he turned back, Dad pulled his sidearm with a grin.

“The HELL?!” Dean repeated.

The clerk stammered something and reached under the counter; Sam thought he saw the kid’s hand hit a silent alarm. Dad, still grinning, fired twice, and the clerk crumpled. Then Dad looked straight at the camera... and his eyes turned black from corner to corner.

Sam’s heart raced, and he grabbed Dean’s shoulder.

The demon blew a kiss at the camera, stowed Dad’s gun, and sauntered out, visibly giggling again. Everyone watched in silence as it went back to Dad’s truck just as the maid got to his room. But the demon didn’t attack the maid; instead, it got in the truck and drove off, just seconds before the maid ran out again, screaming hysterically.

“It killed Zola,” Sam surmised. “It used _Dad_ to kill Zola.”

Dean jammed his hands into his short hair, too distressed even to swear. It looked to Sam like he was fighting tears.

“C’mon,” Zeetha said, grabbing Dean’s other shoulder. “Let’s go spar.” And they vanished, leaving Sam off balance and bereft.

* * *

_You’ll never get away with this_ , John raged as Lucrezia turned onto the highway and headed north out of Kansas City.

“But darling, I already have,” she replied with a laugh. “I used _your_ face, _your_ gun, _your_ knife. _Your_ DNA and _your_ fingerprints are all over the crime scene. There’s not a jury on earth that would believe you didn’t do it.”

_When my boys catch up to us, they’ll send you straight back to Hell!_

She cackled. “Oh, I do so love a truly defiant subject! It doesn’t _matter_ if they exorcise me, darling. I already know they will. But by then, you’ll be the subject of the greatest manhunt of the year. You’re a multiple murderer. There’s no way out. And if your sons try to help you, they’ll be tried as accessories. You don’t want to see your precious babies go to prison, now, do you?”

His blisteringly profane reply was music to her ears.


	5. Reversi

“Spar?” Jess echoed, turning to Sam in confusion.

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, y’know, go to the gym, get swords, and—”

“I know what the word means. Why did Zeetha take Dean to spar now?”

“Oh, you know Dean,” said Tarvek. “He’s—”

“Never had the chance to grow out of a four-year-old’s coping methods,” Gil interrupted. “You remember that time in Flagstaff, Sam?”

Sam blinked in surprise. He’d never forgotten Flagstaff. Dad and Klaus had left the boys at a motel as usual and gone off to hunt something up in the mountains, and Sam had gotten fed up with tagging along after Dean and Gil and had run away. He’d settled in an abandoned cabin, adopted a stray golden retriever named Bones, acquired enough pizza and Funyuns for a few days, and had relished his newfound freedom until Dean and Gil had found him and hauled him out of town. Dean hadn’t said a word on the two-day drive to Blue Earth until they’d arrived at Pastor Jim’s parsonage. Then Dean had dropped Sam and his duffle at the curb, snarling, “You want a break from our family? You got it,” and left for Sioux Falls with Gil still in shotgun. Sam hadn’t seen them again for two weeks and wouldn’t have enjoyed staying with Pastor Jim at all if Tarvek and Violetta hadn’t made a concerted effort to cheer him up.

“Um,” Sam said. “Yeah, I... remember.”

Tarvek evidently remembered, too; he started chewing on his lip nervously.

“You didn’t know it,” Gil said, “but I found you about two hours before we busted you. We’d split up to make it easier to search. I didn’t bust you myself both because I knew you wouldn’t come with me if I’d come alone and because I had a hunch how Dean would react. And I was right. He _flipped the bed_ into the TV. By the time he calmed down enough not to slug you on sight, there wasn’t a stick of furniture left intact in that room. That’s one of the reasons we checked out and left the state; I had to page Dad and let him know where we were going.”

Sam frowned. “Why the hell would he—”

But he was interrupted by a sob from Mom, who ran back toward the bedrooms.

“Mom!” Sam cried and chased after her. She ducked into her room and slammed the door just as he caught up, so he knocked. “Mom?!”

“Go away!” Mom replied.

“Mom, _please_. What did I say wrong?”

He heard some muffled crying, and then the door opened enough that he could see her hugging herself and walking slowly into the main part of the room. He eased in behind her but kept his distance, stopping when she stopped in the middle of the room.

Then she turned to him, looking miserable. “I remember everything, Sam. Zantabraxus gave me your memories, yours and Dean’s both.”

He paled. That could explain why she was acting so weird the night before, especially around Jess. It would be hard enough if she... _remembered_ Jess (hoo boy, awkward), but if the first thing she’d thought of when meeting Jess was the night of Brady’s attack....

Mom took a deep breath. “I remember Flagstaff.”

Oh. Oh, _hell._

“I know what it looked like to you; I know why you ran. But Dean....” Her voice caught, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to try to stifle her tears and regain her composure. “He was so afraid a monster had taken you. He was even more afraid that the monster was human. And he was terrified of what your dad would do if he hadn’t found you by the time John and Klaus got home.”

Sam’s eyes widened. None of that had ever occurred to him, even as an adult. “I left a note—”

“They never found it. When Gil came back... Dean was relieved that you were okay, but he was furious that you weren’t even hurt, that you’d thought you could steal all the things he’d ever wanted for himself and have your normal life _without him_....” She broke off with a sob.

He felt about two feet tall, especially now that he knew about the brother-bond. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Don’t apologize to me!” she snapped, then grimaced and sat down on the bed. “If anything, I should be apologizing to you. You come by it honestly.”

He drifted closer. “What do you mean?”

“Your dad and I both tend to run from our problems. Whenever we had a fight, it was usually John who walked out on me, but... the whole reason I married him was that I was running from the life.” She sniffled and huffed a laugh. “To be honest... if I weren’t under that _geis_ Zantabraxus put on me, I might be running away right now to try to figure out who I am now, how I’m supposed to mother two grown men... how to clean up my mess.”

“Mom, it’s not your fault.”

“Sammy....”

He sat down beside her. “If you really have all of our memories, then you know what happened to Henry. You know what Dean and I have figured out so far about the reasons Abaddon attacked the Letters to make sure Dad grew up without Henry, without this place, and why it was so important that he ended up married to _you_. I mean, you heard what Dean said about the cupids. It’s way bigger than us.”

“Yes, but _I took the deal_.”

“You were set up.”

“That doesn’t mean... I’m still responsible for my choices.”

“I know that. So am I. So is Dad. But we don’t have to clean up the whole mess by ourselves.”

She looked at him for a moment, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Then he hugged her, and she hugged him back.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” she whispered.

“I love you, Mom,” he replied.

They were still hugging when there was a knock on the doorframe. “Sorry to interrupt,” Henry said and came partway into the room as they broke the hug and turned to him, although Sam kept one arm around Mom’s shoulders. “Sam, do you remember which storeroom we found that dungeon in?”

“Um,” said Sam, temporarily thrown. “Yeah, I think so. Do you want us to—”

“You kids are staying here. That includes you, Mary. It’s obvious the demon’s using John to try to draw you out; that must be the backup plan Missouri guessed Azazel would have. Gil’s trying to get Klaus on the line, and Ash has already called Bobby.”

Sam frowned. “So what do you need the dungeon for?”

Henry looked him in the eye. “I’ve got an idea.”

* * *

John slumped against his mental chains in defeat as Lucrezia cleaned up in the gas station bathroom in Des Moines, being sure to leave enough clear fingerprints for the police to find. He now had half a joint’s worth of strong marijuana in his system on top of the booze and another girl’s blood on his hands. The poor kid had sent flirty looks his way when Lucrezia stopped for gas and a snack, and Lucrezia had taken the invitation to join the girl in her camper, which was parked behind the building. John had fought to take back control, to no avail; Lucrezia had simply made sure he was aware of every move she made. It was only a matter of time before someone saw the girl’s blood dripping from the camper floor and found both her body and ample evidence that John had been there.

Poor kid. Zola might have deserved to die, but this girl hadn’t, and neither had the motel clerk. They’d just been convenient victims to add to the airtight frame Lucrezia was building for him— _Lucrezia Mongfish_ , of all the demons in the world for him to get stuck with. He knew she still resented his role in preventing her from possessing Agatha and in sending her to Hell in the first place; that might explain why she’d kept him awake for so much of her spree thus far. But more than that, she was having entirely too much fun using his body... using _him_.

And it was all his own fault. He was entirely to blame for those kids’ deaths. It didn’t matter that Lucrezia had been the one wielding the knife. She wouldn’t have had the chance if he hadn’t walked right into her trap, just like Missouri had told him he would.

_Go after them now, right this minute. Don’t look for the living among the dead._

He should have listened to Missouri.

Humming a little tune, Lucrezia left the bathroom, went back to the truck, and drove away. She’d gotten only five miles down the highway, however, when John’s cell phone rang. _Singer_ was the name on the display when she looked at it.

 _Answer it_ , he told her.

She did so. “What?” she snapped.

“What the HELL do you think you’re doing, Winchester?!” Bobby demanded.

“What do you mean, what do I think I’m doing?”

“You know damn well what I mean. Killin’ the Malfeazium girl, I can understand, but you didn’t have to turn her into a filet-o’-witch. And the clerk? What the hell’d he ever do to you?”

“What—I—”

“What is _wrong_ with you, Jarhead?”

She sighed. “I dunno,” she replied, sounding so confused it almost convinced John himself. “There’s something wrong with my head, Singer. I—it’s—I-I think maybe I got whammied or something.”

Bobby huffed. “Where are you?”

“Des Moines. I was... I was gonna see if Jim....”

“Jim ain’t home, idjit. He’s at some conference or other in Quebec. Get yourself up here; I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“Okay. Thanks. It’ll be about....”

 _Five hours_ , John supplied.

“Five hours,” Lucrezia echoed.

“See y’then,” Bobby replied and hung up.

Lucrezia dropped the phone on the passenger seat with a giggle and turned onto I-35.

 _Don’t get any bright ideas_ , John warned.

She laughed. “But darling, it’s perfect. Murphy may be out of reach for the moment, but I was going to get around to dealing with Singer in a day or two anyway. He can’t exorcise me yet, and I’m sure he’ll be ever so much more fun to play with than dear Zola was. This will give the Des Moines police time to find out what we’ve done, and it might even give them a chance to catch up. And just think of the anguish on your sons’ faces when they see what I’ve done to their poor Uncle Bobby!” She laughed again, the bone-chilling laugh of a mad scientist who’d just perfected a doomsday machine, and turned the radio on to a Top 40 station.

Swearing, he tried again to wrestle out of his chains—but the next thing he knew, they were turning in at the gate of Singer Salvage.

“Oh, don’t worry, darling,” she said, switching off the radio. “You haven’t missed anything but a long, boring drive. You know I couldn’t _possibly_ allow you to sleep through anything else, don’t you?”

Of course. She wanted him to know every detail of the crimes she was committing in his skin. That way, he couldn’t claim to have blacked out or lost time or anything of the kind that would give him the chance to plead insanity when the police finally caught him. And now that she was going after his friends... she probably wanted him to be too broken to run when she left him.

He didn’t even dare hope that Bobby was paranoid enough to have prepared a trap. It had been too many years since Bobby had run him off with a shotgun; he didn’t know what defenses the house might have now. And it was too late to worry about it in any case. Lucrezia was parking in front of the house.

Rumsfeld started barking up a storm as soon as the engine cut off. Lucrezia looked around, but the Rottweiler was nowhere to be seen. So with a mental shrug, she started into the house, passing easily across the porch and through the front hall and ignoring John’s mental curse at the absence of wards.

“Bobby?” she called as she passed the hall closet.

“In here,” Bobby called from the living room.

She started to turn the corner—and stuck fast. With a gasp, she looked up to find a devil’s trap painted on the ceiling, then screamed as Bobby flung holy water in their face. But before she could recover from that, a collar of warded iron clamped around their throat, followed rapidly by shackles on their wrists and ankles. At the same time, a hand wrapped around the scratched binding link, healing the skin instantly. A chair pushed itself against their knees, and some external force pushed them down into it... and the kitchen door slid aside to reveal Klaus and another man who was shorter and stockier and whose eyes glowed blue behind his glasses.

“BARRY!” Lucrezia shrieked.

The stranger—Barry?—chuckled coldly. “I thought that was you. Hello, Lucrezia.”

And Bobby read, “ _Exorcisamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_....”

Lucrezia yelped and writhed as the holy words tore into her. She looked desperately toward Bobby’s desk, looking for a letter opener or some other weapon she could threaten John with, but she couldn’t lash out telekinetically because of the chains.

Even so, Klaus strode quickly across to the desk and moved the pencil caddy out of her line of sight. “You’re not killing anyone else today,” he told her sternly.

“Damn you, Klaus!” she spat. “I’ll kill every man in this house if you don’t—”

“... _omni creati infernis_...” Bobby read, cutting her off.

“Interesting little gambit of yours, Lucrezia,” Barry said, strolling into the living room. “It was clear from the security footage at the bar that either you or Zola was trying to put John under some kind of thrall spell.”

“That was me,” Lucrezia admitted. “Dear Zola didn’t think it would work. And she was right, blast her eyes.”

Klaus frowned. “Didn’t you learn anything at all from what you tried to do to Agatha?”

“I did: why Azazel wouldn’t offer me a deal for her.”

“What kind of deal?”

“That he’d make her the vessel for Lucifer. Turns out, even with Bill, I didn’t have the right bloodline.” She pouted briefly, then grinned and ran a hand down the inside of John’s thigh. “Oh, but I have the right bloodline _now_ , don’t I, darlings? Why, if I hadn’t been under orders, he’d be mine for all time, and I’d be carrying half a dozen Antichrists in Zola’s womb already. And _then_ —”

Bobby read another phrase, mercifully cutting off her gloating as John reeled from the implications. Missouri had said Sam knew more now than he did about Azazel’s plans—was that what she meant? Was Sam supposed to be Lucifer’s vessel? Did he already _know_ that? Was that why he’d seemed so lost when he’d asked Missouri what was happening to him, why she’d said he was afraid John would kill him?

“What were your orders?” Klaus asked.

Lucrezia huffed. “As if I’d tell you.”

Bobby read another phrase.

Barry stared more intently at her, and John sensed some kind of compulsion take hold of Lucrezia—only her, not his own soul. “What did Azazel order you to do?” Barry asked.

“Seduce John,” she wheezed. “Draw his boys out. Give John orders... make him push... Sam to tap into... into the demon blood... the powers, get him... make him ready... then set up... John and Dean... make a deal....”

“What deal?”

“No.”

“What deal?”

“No!”

Bobby read more of the exorcism.

“What deal?” Barry insisted.

“Righteous Man!” Lucrezia yelped. “The Righteous Man!”

“What righteous man?” Klaus pressed.

“First seal... Righteous Man... shed blood in Hell....”

“First seal of what?”

Lucrezia screamed, and Bobby read more of the exorcism.

“First seal of what?” Klaus repeated.

“Cage!” Lucrezia cried. “Lucifer’s Cage!”

“Who is the Righteous Man?” Barry thundered.

Lucrezia fought the compulsion, but after Bobby read more, she shrieked, “DEAN! DEAN WINCHESTER!”

Klaus and Bobby exchanged a startled look at that.

“Because Dean is Michael’s vessel, is that it?” Barry asked more quietly. “And Sam is Lucifer’s?”

Lucrezia started crying. “Yes.”

“And the seal you mentioned. Azazel’s trying to _break_ the seals on Lucifer’s Cage.”

“Yes.”

“You’re trying to jump-start the Apocalypse.”

“ _Yes_.”

“And that’s why you couldn’t put John under full thrall. He has to consent freely to a deal to save his sons, and he has to do it in a way that Dean knows about and feels guilty about so that he’ll be willing to sell his own soul to save Sam.”

Lucrezia huffed at that, then smirked. “Oh, but you’re too late to stop those dominoes from falling. John’s already wanted for three murders, and there’s not a hope in hell of clearing him. It’s all over, darling. I’ve won.”

“Not yet, you haven’t,” Klaus growled, and Bobby read further, until Barry held up a hand to stop him.

Then Barry leaned forward and grabbed John’s shirt, his glowing blue eyes staring straight into Lucrezia’s oily black eyes. “Listen well, Lucrezia Bathory Sinclair-Mongfish Heterodyne-Sanders, consort of Wilhelm Alexei Heterodyne. By the blood of the Heterodynes and in the name of Jesus Christ, I bind and compel you thus: You will remember nothing of this interrogation, neither that it happened nor that you told us anything at all. You will remember nothing of what you have learned from possessing John and Zola. And you will say nothing of this time you’ve spent on earth to anyone, in Heaven or in Hell or on earth. _Do you understand?_ ” He didn’t raise his voice, but the power in it shook the walls and floor and resonated into John’s very bones.

“Yes, Master!” Lucrezia gasped.

Barry nodded once, backed off with his eyes no longer glowing, and nodded again to Bobby, who finished the exorcism. Lucrezia was ripped from John’s body with a wail, and the chains fell off of their own accord.

And a second later, John swayed as the combined force of whiskey and pot slammed into his brain all at once.

“Whoa,” Klaus said and caught him, easing him upright as the chair and the chains were pulled away. “Easy there, Winchester. You’re okay.”

“’M _drunk_ , dammitall,” John retorted, having zero success in regaining his balance and woozily throwing his left arm across Klaus’ shoulders. “’M high, too. Damn ’Crezzzia. ’M not okay. ’M damn stupid. Oughta bus’ me backa private, Gunny.”

Somebody else steadied John from the right. It wasn’t Barry or Bobby, but John didn’t want to look to see who it was.

“I can’t do that anymore, John,” Klaus replied, and he and the other helper turned John around and started carting him toward the front door.

“Oughta gimme a duck dinner,”* John insisted.

“Don’t tempt me. Just hang on another couple minutes. We’re gonna fix this.”

“Can’ fix it. ’S FUBAR, Gunny. ’M a damn fool. Shoulda lis’na Mizzzouri. ’S no way out now.”

“Lucrezia doesn’t know everything. Now come on out here. We want to show you something.”

They hauled him outside, where the sun was way too bright, and up to the driver’s side of his truck. The window was down, and there was... John blinked several times and squinted, but the image he could make out past the beer goggles didn’t change. There was somebody asleep in the driver’s seat.

No, not asleep. Whoever it was wasn’t moving and didn’t appear to be breathing. The face was turned away, so all he could really see was the bare skin of the person’s neck. He pulled his right arm free and reached in to check for a pulse.

The second his fingers touched the other person’s skin, there was a jolt and a blinding green flash, and when it passed, John’s head and vision were completely clear. A pulse stuttered to life under his fingertips, and the stranger straightened, opened his eyes, and turned to look at John.

It was John’s own face, hazel eyes glassy with whiskey and pot, the stains of lipstick and blood visible on the collar of the same shirt and jacket John was wearing. Before John could do more than gasp, the double started the truck, put it in gear, and raced off around the house and out the gate just as a line of police cars came screaming after it.

“What the hell?” John asked.

“Fae changeling,” said a familiar voice in John’s right ear. “Fashioned out of a log; it’s not really alive, but it’s close enough to stand up to police scrutiny. It’s going to lead the authorities to an old quarry outside of town and then drive off a ledge. Bobby called them in himself, actually. The truck’s going to burn, of course, but there will be enough evidence left to prove that John Winchester is dead.”

John finally turned to look at his other helper. He hardly dared believe....

“Welcome to the club, John,” Pops concluded with a chuckle.

“Pops? What—how—did you really....”

Pops’ smile faded. “I’m sorry I never came home, son. When I arrived in Palo Alto in November, the Adventure Club warned me that it would be too dangerous for me to try to jump back to 1958.”

“It’s... it’s all true, then? What Missouri told me?”

“Well, I don’t know what she did tell you, but it’s probably true. She’s seldom wrong.”

“I... I... Pops....”

Pops tightened his hold on John’s belt. “I’m here, Johnny,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

John lost it. He pulled his father into a rough hug and wept. Pops didn’t say a word, just rubbed John’s back gently and let him cry.

Finally, John managed to pull himself together and fished his handkerchief, which looked suspiciously new, out of his pocket to wipe his face. He cleared his throat and said hoarsely, “Well, thank God Jim’s in Canada.”

“Actually, he isn’t,” Pops answered and let go of John’s belt at long last. “That conference was in November. He is in Blue Earth, but Ash and Agatha had been tracking your phone and warned Jim in plenty of time to get himself and Violetta into a safe room. Bobby just needed to give Lucrezia a good reason to come here instead.”

“Oh. Good thinking. So where, uh... where’d you get those chains?”

“Someplace safe. The kids are there now. I wouldn’t let them come with us; we all agreed it was too dangerous for them. But we’ll take you to them.”

John huffed. “In what? I don’t even see Klaus’ truck out here.”

“It’s around back,” Barry said, coming up behind Pops, “but we’re taking it—headed back to Beetleburg in a minute. Incidentally, I don’t think we’ve met. Barry Heterodyne.”

“John Winchester,” John replied and shook Barry’s hand. “Decided to drop the ‘Sanders,’ huh?”

“Well, not legally, and not in Beetleburg, but in this crowd... especially since I came into my powers, there’s not much point in hiding it. Agatha and the kids helped me there, and Klaus, too. Just the fact that they didn’t shy away, knowing what I can do... what I _have_ done....”

“What was done _to_ you,” Pops added gravely. “Those things are on Cuthbert’s head, not yours. And the kids all know that.”

Barry drew a deep breath and looked at John again. “Look, my point is, I don’t know how much you heard in there....”

“All of it,” John admitted.

“Sam’s a _good kid_. Sam and Dean and Gil helped get me back on my feet long enough for Klaus to get me to a hospital, and Sun tells me Sam even called every once in a while just to check on me. I didn’t get to spend much time with them, but I have no qualms about Agatha being around Sam, about his being her brother-in-law. I mean, I know you don’t know me from Adam, but I just... had to say it.”

John nodded slowly. “Thanks. And, uh... thanks for what you did in there.”

“She was my problem,” Barry said quietly. “That’s probably the closest I’ll ever be able to get to avenging Mom and Bill and Agatha. I’m just sorry your mess got mixed up with our mess.”

John offered his hand again. Barry sniffled and shook it.

Pops took a deep breath. “You were saying about cars, John?”

It took John a moment to backtrack to that point in the conversation. “Cars, right, yeah. That was the only one I had, to say nothing of—” He froze, remembering what was in the toolbox in the back of the truck.

“Don’t worry ’bout your weapons, Jarhead,” Rufus Turner called, emerging from behind a junker with Bobby, carrying said toolbox between them. John’s duffle was set on top of it. “Got ’em all right here, ’cept that one knife. Didn’t reckon you’d want that’n back anyhow.”

“Rufus?” John asked, now thoroughly confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Bob figured Her Majesty might need another pair o’ mortal hands for this part o’ the job.”

“Her Majesty?”

As Rufus nodded to John’s left, Klaus cleared his throat. John turned... and found himself staring at the tallest, most beautiful Asian woman he’d ever seen, looking down at him imperiously. Her clothes were standard Western daywear, but her short hair was dark green.

“Honey,” Klaus said to her, “you remember John Winchester from ’Nam. John, may I present my wife, Zantabraxus, the Warrior Queen of Indochina.”

John gulped. “Ma’am.”

“Have no fear,” Zantabraxus said. “The changeling will pass all necessary tests, even DNA and fingerprint tests, to convince the police to close the case Lucrezia has built against you. It is your exact double, down to the smallest distinguishing mark. Every scar and hidden disease you bore, including the wounds you received in Vietnam, have been transferred to it and will no longer trouble you. Your fingerprints and the rifling of your gun have been altered, and your own DNA is now closer to your father’s in enough minor ways that while your appearance will not change, you can never again be connected with the evidence left at those murder scenes.”

John’s jaw dropped. “I... you... that’s... how... how can I ever repay you?”

“You are indeed in my debt, John Eric Winchester,” she stated, and this time the power of her words did take hold of his soul. “In consequence, I lay upon you this bond: not to depart from my presence or from the place in which I reside except in the company of your sons or another member of my family or household, until such time as I release you. Should you violate this bond, your life will be forfeit. Do you understand?”

John struggled for breath as his mind whirled. No wonder she’d trashed his truck, his only means of escaping. He couldn’t keep hunting Azazel unless he went with the boys, and that was too dangerous now; even Missouri would have to agree with that. Why the hell would Zantabraxus—

“Do you understand?” she demanded.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he responded before he could stop himself. He did understand the command; he just didn’t understand what it meant.

She released him with a nod, then gestured to Bobby and Rufus, who brought the toolbox over to John and Pops. Pops piled the chains next to the duffle and took one end of the toolbox, and John took the other. Then Zantabraxus kissed Klaus soundly, walked over to John and Pops, and put a hand on each of their shoulders.

And suddenly they were standing outside a door in a bricked archway in the side of a hill. Scarcely had John registered that fact when the door opened to reveal... Van von Mekkhan?

John had no time to ask questions. Pops was tugging on his end of the toolbox and walking through the doorway, and Zantabraxus was pushing John from behind. As John passed, Van gave him a friendly pat on the back, took the toolbox from him, and followed Pops through the hall and out onto a landing with a wrought-iron banister.

“We got him!” Pops announced loudly and led Van off to the right, down a staircase that led to some kind of Depression-era command center, complete with lighted map table.

There were cheers from somewhere as Zantabraxus herded John out onto the landing—and then the boys came racing up the staircase, each clapping Pops on the shoulder as they passed. John barely had time to brace himself before Dean plowed into his arms, hugging him with all his might.

“Hey, Champ,” John breathed, put his arms around his son, and relaxed into the hug.

Dean held the hug for a good fifteen seconds before pulling back. “Dad, what the hell—”

“Save it, Dean. You can’t say anything worse to me than I’ve already said to myself. Missouri told me I’d be safer with you boys, but I didn’t listen, and I came too damn close to sending myself to Death Row. That’s not your fault.”

Dean swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Then John looked past him to Sam, who was waiting anxiously on the top step. “Sam. Been a long time.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied quietly.

John was at a total loss for what to say. But dammit, he had to listen to Missouri about _something_ , knowing how right she’d been about everything else. So he walked around Dean and gave Sam a hug. Sam stiffened, startled, but then he let out a shuddering sigh and returned the hug, burying his nose in the crook of John’s neck like he had since he was tiny.

“We’ll figure it out, Sammy,” John whispered. “We’ll figure it out.”

Sam’s breath hitched. “Yes, sir.”

John patted his back, and Sam let go. John then took a deep breath and said, “Now. What is this place?”

“It’s a bunker that belonged to the Men of Letters,” Sam explained, ushering John down the stairs, and Dean and Zantabraxus followed them. “We moved in here in November; Henry had the key. We’ve got video links set up to the Roadhouse and to another hideout where Gil and Agatha are staying. That place and this place are warded to where nobody can get in without both the key and the seal of Zanta’s family or household, which means basically just the Adventure Club and a few trusted friends.”

“You sure as hell scared us stupid, Papa Bear,” Ash stated from one of the screens on the wall that Sam was leading John toward. “Thought that demon had her hooks into you for good.”

“She very nearly did,” John admitted. “It was Lucrezia Mongfish.”

“I thought so,” said Tarvek from the other screen, flanked by an anxious Gil and Agatha.

“Agatha’s safe, though. Barry bound her memory and her tongue before Bobby sent her back to Hell.”

Agatha heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Thanks for telling me, Uncle John. I’ll try to call Uncle Barry later and get the full story from him.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Dad, there’s somethin’ else you should know.”

John braced himself. “About the two of you being archangel vessels, you mean?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Dean took a deep breath. “Uh, no, but... that’s... somethin’ we oughta talk about later. Like tomorrow, maybe. No, there’s... there’s somebody else here. And you need to know—she’s real. It’s not a trick; there’s no strings attached, nothin’.”

“Well, one string,” Zantabraxus said, and John almost thought she sounded amused. “But it is the same string I placed on your rescue.”

John frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Dean turned toward a nearby doorway and nodded, and Zeetha walked out with... with....

“John?” Mary asked.

John started to reach for his gun, but Sam caught his arm. “Dad, she’s real. Zanta brought her back yesterday, after we got rid of the poltergeist that was in our old house.”

 _Don’t look for the living among the dead_ —Missouri had known, had been trying to tell John that Mary was alive. She’d tried to call him back to explain, and he hadn’t given her a chance.

Mary nodded. “It’s true. I can’t leave without Zantabraxus or the boys with me.”

“I... I can’t, either,” John confessed and pulled out of Sam’s grasp. But he didn’t go for his gun; instead, he walked toward her. “Mary?”

She nodded. Cautiously, he reached out to touch her face; the skin was aged, but the bones were the right shape, not the broad oval of Zola’s face that he’d felt even through the heavy layers of enchantment. She stepped into his personal space, and—yes, that was her smell, her own perfume. He kissed her, and her lips felt right, and his heart felt the same tug he’d always felt since the day he first fell for her but not the thought-squelching drive caused by Lucrezia’s potions and spells. He pulled back, and her eyes were glittering with unshed tears.

“I’m so sorry, John,” she whispered.

“Mary,” he choked out and pulled her into a tearful hug.

Her form had the right shape; it fit like it should in his arms. Her heart had the right beat. The boys hadn’t been lying or tricked. She was real.

Finally he kissed her again and pulled back to mop the tears off his face with his already damp handkerchief while Mary did the same with a Kleenex Zeetha handed her. “Uh,” John said, trying to get his voice to work past the sniffles. “Well. I guess, if I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future, at least I’m stuck here with you.”

Mary chuckled damply. “Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right....”

“I don’t think Mom put that bond on you just for kicks, John,” Gil noted. “Neither you nor Mary bears Mom’s seal. If you leave the bunker without one of us, even if you take a key, you can’t get back in. Given what just happened with Lucrezia, that’s one hell of a dangerous position to be in.”

John took a deep breath and blew it out again. “I guess you’re right, Gil. Besides, I haven’t even been here ten minutes, and I already know too much about this place to be able to leave. If I _were_ captured again, I probably wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret.”

“Oh, _that’s_ tactful, John,” Zeetha said and rolled her eyes.

Sam sighed. “Look, Dad, you don’t have to avenge Mom anymore. We’re already working on the Apocalypse stuff. We’re safer here than just about anyplace else on earth. Why don’t you just relax for a few weeks, huh? Take a vacation from hunting.”

Mary’s eyes narrowed. “Speaking of hunting, what the _hell_ were you thinking bringing up our sons that way?”

John blinked. “What way?”

“In the life. Hunting.”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have had to if _someone I know_ hadn’t been hiding a damn demon deal from me.”

She grabbed his lapel. “We need to talk, mister.”

“We sure as hell do.”

She dragged him away down the hall to a door that she flung open and pulled him through, the whole of which dragged up memories of the fights they had had in the summer of ’83. And that, more than anything, convinced him that this really was his wife, his Mary, totally unchanged since the last time he saw her. She slammed the door behind them and turned to him, taking a deep breath to begin laying into him the way she always had—the way Sam always did—and he couldn’t contain himself. He grabbed her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her soundly.

She huffed when he let her go. “John.”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry. I missed you.”

“Do not think you’re getting out of this conversation that easily.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” But he kissed her again anyway.

She cleared her throat and pulled away from him. “First of all....”

* * *

Flabbergasted, Sam watched his parents disappear down the hall to the bedroom wing, and Dean heaved a deep sigh. Sam turned to him. “Is this normal?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean replied and held out an arm to Zeetha, who walked into the side hug and wrapped a supportive arm around his waist. “At least for that last summer, it was. Just hope to hell they’re not armed.”

“They aren’t,” Ardsley replied, showing them Dad’s pistol before setting it on the map table. “Van relieved your father of this on his way in.”

Dean huffed in relief as Van and Henry came back out of the bedroom wing. “Van, you’re a gentleman and a scholar.”

“You’re welcome,” Van replied with a grin.

“I didn’t even get a chance to introduce Jess,” Sam complained as Jess came over from the library.

Jess took his hand. “That’s all right. Seeing your mom again was more important after what Zola apparently did to him. You can introduce me in the morning.”

Zeetha raised an eyebrow. “As his girlfriend or as his wife?”

Sam looked at Jess, then at his watch. “Do you think now....”

“It’s as good a time as any,” said Henry, “especially if you don’t mind company. If the courthouse is closed, I’m sure we can find a little 24-hour wedding chapel somewhere on the other side of the state line.”

Jess bit her lip and raised her eyebrows.

Sam looked from her to Dean and smiled. “Actually? I wouldn’t mind company at all.”

Seeing Dean smile for the first time all day made Sam sure he’d said the right thing.

* * *

* Military slang for a dishonorable discharge. 


	6. Epilogue: You Send Me

“Thanks, man,” Dean murmured into his phone. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me _several_ for making me fly to Pennsylvania in December,” Tarvek noted. After a short pause, he went on more kindly, “But I don’t think I’ll add this one to the tab.”

Dean couldn’t help chuckling at that. “Later, dude.”

“Later,” Tarvek returned and hung up.

Dean sighed heavily and stared at his phone as it went dark, not stirring from his seat at the kitchen table. He honestly didn’t know what he was feeling. He couldn’t have taken this hunt in Cape Girardeau in any case; the whole Adventure Club knew it wasn’t safe, after what had happened to Dad. And Tarvek and Colette really were the closest hunters other than Gil and Agatha, who needed to stay at the mansion for the same reason the Winchesters needed to stay at the bunker. But even if that hadn’t been true... he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to do it himself.

He’d forgotten all about Cassie Robinson until she’d called five minutes earlier to say she thought a ghost had killed her dad. It had been hard enough to tell her on the phone that he was married now. With or without Zeetha... he couldn’t face Cassie again.

He’d loved her once, loved her enough to break Dad’s cardinal rule and tell her the truth. She’d freaked out and broken up with him. Now all those feelings had come flooding back with the reawakened memories—and with them guilt that they even could come back. He loved Zeetha more than he’d ever loved any other woman, even more than he’d loved Cassie. Why was this happening to him now?

“Dean?” Zeetha asked, coming into the kitchen behind him and putting a strong but gentle hand on his shoulder.

He shook his head to clear it and looked up at her with what he hoped was a smile. “Hey.”

“What’s wrong?”

He sighed again and dragged his free hand down his face. “Cassie called.”

“Cassie?” She frowned like she was trying to place the name.

“Cassie Robinson. She’s, uh. The reason I met you.”

She swiveled him toward her just far enough to sit down in his lap. “Problem?”

“Yeah, she, uh... her dad died yesterday. Said he thought some kind of... ghost truck was after him.”

“We going?”

“No. No, I... I gave it to Tarvek.”

She nodded slowly. “Could have been awkward.”

“Yeah.” He huffed. “When she called, I didn’t even remember her name until she mentioned how I knew her. I mean, it’s not like—you’re—you’re everything she is and so much more... I just... yeah.”

She looked at him steadily for a moment. “Want me to help you forget her again?”

Nobody had had any plans for the day, so he had no reason to say no—and he did want her to help him forget. He needed to assure himself, and her, that he really did love her. “Yes,” he whispered.

She slid into him, zapped them back to their bedroom, put his phone on the nightstand, and started her usual routine of playing with his soul in ways that never failed to elicit physical responses. Their pulse quickening, he stripped, scarcely noticing that their clothes unmerged as they hit the floor. But something was different this time—some deep ache lingered that her flirtatious touch hadn’t reached yet, and he didn’t quite know why. The amulet and Klaus’ dog tags joined the phone on the nightstand, but still he felt that ache.

And then, as he started to take off her armbands, he caught a flash of vision, so brief that he barely had time to register that he was seeing something other than their bedroom. He gulped down a couple of breaths before trying again, but nothing happened as he slid the gold bands off their arms and watched them shrink back to her size as he set them on the nightstand. Bewildered, he lay down and covered their merged body with the sheet, moaned a little as she did something with the consort bond, and let their eyes close. Maybe focusing on her would help. So he concentrated on the sensations she was causing in his soul, followed them down, and found himself...

... in the front seat of the Impala?

It wasn’t exactly a dreamspace; he was still too aware of the outside world for that. But it wasn’t exactly real, either. The space was dark, apart from the dashboard lights and the faint green light that surrounded Zeetha as she sat in his lap and ran a line of kisses along his jaw. But it sure looked like the inside of his baby, and he was behind the wheel. The engine raced in time with their joined heart, but they weren’t moving. It was just the two of them here, still dressed as they had been before the merge.

Suddenly she stopped and raised her head to look at him. “Dean?”

“Hey,” he whispered, taking his hands off the wheel to rub her back.

“What... how....”

“I dunno, but I think I like it.”

She swallowed hard. “Just... just a sec.” She twisted and reached under the dashboard to grab the microphone of a CB radio that wasn’t in the real Impala. Switching it on, she uttered a couple of warding spells, and he felt power flow out of them into the darkness—into the walls of the bedroom. That gave him time to notice the red cord running out his left side and disappearing out the window, the faint blue-green rope coming from both of them and twining together before it disappeared out the passenger window, and the green-white cord that glowed between their chests. He took a moment to make sure their merge-link to Gil and Agatha was shut down, which it was; neither that bond nor the brother-bond was lit up the way the consort bond was.

“There,” Zeetha said when she’d finished and hung up the mike. “This way we won’t be disturbed.” She turned back to him. “Now, where was I?”

“About to let me do this,” he replied and kissed her.

He lost all track of time as the make-out session continued and became ever more intense, even the illusion of clothing between them falling away. He’d never experienced this level of intimacy before, and part of his mind was scared by it—but this was his wife, the woman who’d shared his life and his brain for four years and never shied away, so it was as safe as anything this risky ever could be. Yet he could still sense the back seat behind him, a hollow space carved out by the merge with Gil and Agatha. That was where the ache was coming from, that notion that his feelings for Cassie had uncovered a corner of himself that he hadn’t let Zeetha into. As he fumbled for the lever to lower the back of the front seat, the scared part of his mind got even more scared, but somehow he knew he needed to trust Zeetha with this corner just like he’d trusted her with everything else. He’d never truly get over Cassie otherwise.

Just as his hand found the lever, Zeetha paused again. “Dean?”

He waited for the space of two harsh pants and opened the latch. The back of the seat dropped backward, and he grabbed hold of her as they tumbled and rolled and landed squarely in the back seat. The seat back snapped upright again once their weight was off of it, mostly cutting off the light from the dashboard. And there they lay, he looking down at her, she looking up at him, both breathing hard and neither daring to move.

They’d done this a time or two in the real Impala over the years, but there’d always been the risk of being caught or interrupted somehow. Now... now it was totally dark, totally quiet aside from the sounds of their own heartbeat and breathing, no one to intrude, nothing between them.

It was too much. He’d gone too far. Now she’d call it all off, kick him out, just like Cassie....

But no, Zeetha pulled his head down and kissed him soundly. And he immediately made up his mind to pay her back, pleasure for pleasure, in full and with interest. He had no idea what was happening to them physically; his whole focus was on her soul. Even when she stopped looking human, even when her light grew blindingly bright, he pressed on, until at last fireworks went off in his head and he collapsed back on his side of the bed, once more alone in his skin, head spinning and ears ringing, and generally feeling like he was in the really fun stage of one of Theo’s bartending experiments.

About the time he’d mostly caught his breath and could hear and see again, he became aware of her muttering awed curses in Thai. She stopped, then said in English, “Not that I’m complaining, honey, but what the _hell_ was that for?!”

His head lolled over, but he couldn’t even think coherently, so he just stared at her in adoration. Didn’t she know by now? She always knew.

“Dean?”

An unintelligible mumble found its way out of him. When she blinked in confusion, he tried again: “Y’rra beshfingazzerr ’appename.” Okay, maybe he hadn’t quite made it back into the driver’s seat yet.

She giggled. “You sound like Zoing.”

He blew a raspberry, closed his eyes, and tried to find that Impala space again. He succeeded, but sure enough, his soul was still sprawled in the back seat. With a great effort, he grabbed the back of the front seat, hauled himself up and over, and landed on his back in the front seat with a thud that would have knocked the wind out of him if it had been real. After a moment to recover, he reached for the CB mike and opened his eyes again to meet her curious brown eyes. “Y’r the besht thing thazz ev’r happened to me,” he repeated—the words were still kinda slurred, but clearer than they had been. “’Mean, af’r... af’r Sammy ’n’ Gil, the besht dayomy... besht... dammit. I love you.”

“Well, I know _that_ ,” she laughed and scooted closer. “I love you, too.”

“I’m sherioush, Zee.” He managed to get his arm behind her shoulders and pull her all the way against his side. “If... if you....” He swallowed hard and tried to get his tongue back under control and find his words. “That first night in Corpus... if you had only smiled at me and never given me the time of day, _dayenu_.* If you had only knocked me flat and left me there, _dayenu_. If you had only agreed to dinner and nothing more, _dayenu_. If you had only given me that first night and not gone with me on the vetala hunt, _dayenu_.”

She put a hand on his chest. “I get the picture.”

“But you didn’t. You stayed. I don’t deserve you, but you _chose_ me. You’ve shared my life, my body... everything. You’ve shared your family, and you care about mine. You’re helping me with Sammy. You helped us save Dad. Hell, you _helped me get Mom back_.” He knew he was crying now, and he didn’t have the strength to care.

“It was only fair,” she whispered and kissed his forehead. “You helped me get my own family back.”

His lips were trembling, but he managed to return the kiss without blubbering. He’d never known he could love anyone but Sammy this much.

“So. Still worried about Cassie?”

“Who?” he asked in genuine confusion.

She laughed softly and kissed him again, and they traded gentle kisses and sweet nothings until they both fell asleep.

* * *

* It would have been enough (Hebrew) 


End file.
